The Cat
by msbaileyquarters
Summary: Trying to catch a fleeing feline leads to a chance encounter with a neighbor that will change their lives forever. Arthur Fleck / OC. Some adult-y stuff throughout, obviously.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Alcohol drinkning (sort of), some cursing, cat

A/N: I was legit bummed when I learned Arthur was originally supposed to have a cat in the movie, but they cut it out. Cause, ya know, cats. So wrote this little diddy.

"Hey, get back here!" She whisper-hissed at the fluffy form darting from her apartment. It was 5:33 PM at night and she worried that Paulie would take the chance to jump into someone else's apartment as one of her neighbors came home from work. The smell of Mrs. Ramirez's cooking had probably wafted down the hall to tempt him. Lord knows it tempted her as she hadn't eaten anything since last night.

Paulie stopped at the opposite end of the hall, where he hunched against a corner. Luckily, no one had crossed her paths yet. She breathed a sigh of relief at that, because she…technically wasn't supposed to have Paulie, or any pets for that matter, in this building. Not that it stopped Mrs. Porter on the second floor from having her parakeets or the Skylar couple on the 6th floor with their tropical fish. No one really gave a damn about the rules—which more or less included her, but knowing her luck, she'd be the one to get caught.

"C'mon Paulie, come to mama." She loved animals, but she probably wouldn't have adopted Paulie if she hadn't found him as a trembling, starving kitten mewing beside the dumpsters of her building. Paulie seemed to think the sun rose and set in her, but he wasn't nearly as warm toward anyone else, really. Which made her dubious that he would be able to live with anyone else, and thus made any idea of re-homing him seem out of the question.

She held a small bag of treats and a bell ball out to him, but he seemed to huddle even further into the wall, while eyeing her with a look that indicated he could bolt at any second. She sighed in frustration.

She jumped when she heard the ding of the old elevator at the center of the hallway. "Shit," she mumbled to herself. She prayed it wasn't one of her nosier neighbors—or worse yet, her landlord.

She turned around to see a tall, lanky man with dark hair. Art? Arthur? She was vaguely aware he lived on her same floor; they had crossed paths several times and one or twice engaged in small talk while traveling up or down that elevator. He seemed nice, if a little timid and sad. She hoped he wasn't the sort to make a big deal about Paulie.

He didn't seem to notice her cat at first as he smiled at her. "Hello," he said as he fished around in his coat pocket for his keys.

"Um…hiiii."

He turned from his door to look at her. She suddenly realized she probably made an amusing sight, clutching the treats and colorful cat ball, with what was likely a panicked look on her face, trying to act like everything was normal.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"I'm fine. I, uh, um." Her shoulders drooped. "Just trying to corral my cat."

As if on cue, Paulie let out a long mew from behind her. She looked behind her to see he had finally removed himself from the corner and was warily walking closer.

Arthur bent down and reached out a thin hand to Paulie. "Hi little guy," he cooed gently to the animal.

"Be careful, he's been known to scratch—" she stopped short when Paulie sniffed at Arthur's outstretched fingers, before rubbing his tiny, furry forehead all over them.

"Woah, he doesn't usually do that."

She was even more shocked when Paulie got even closer to her neighbor and Arthur scooped him up into his arms.

"Wow," she exhaled. "You have a magic touch, Mister. Do you work with animals or something?"

She had noticed he blushed a bit at her saying "magic touch." He shook his head. "Oh no—well, sometimes I work around animals. I work as a party clown."

"Huh." She smiled. "I never knew anyone who did anything like that. Must be interesting. Do you like it? Do you only do parties or other stuff?" She didn't mean to give him the fifth degree, but she was genuinely curious; she, her family, and most everyone she knew worked dusty, dull office jobs.

He seemed to brighten the more and more she spoke. "I love it. I get sent to lot of different assignments, actually. I like working with kids the best—I'll go to the children's hospital a lot."

Jeeze, she thought, she could never do something like that. "Wow. So you're like a clown for hire? Have horn, will travel—that sort thing?"

Arthur started to laugh. So boisterously and uncontrollably, he handed over Paulie to her, and eventually had to cover his mouth.

"Jeeze, I don't think I'm that funny."

Arthur shook his head. He fished into his pants pockets, took out what looked like a laminated business card, and handed it to her, while his laughing continued and seemed to pain him. The card explained that this was a medical condition of his.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said as she handed it back to him. "That must suck some serious balls." Though Arthur's laughter had calmed a bit, hearing that last line from her caused some renewed laughter. "Ah jeeze! I need to learn how to keep my big fat mouth shut." She felt horrible, and Paulie seemed to be getting restless in her arms.

The thought occurred to her. "Would you like a night cap or something else to calm your nerves?" She said as she tilted her head toward her apartment. "Feels like the least I can do, especially after you helped me catch Paulie."

He had managed to get much of the laughter under control at that point, though he still coughed and sputtered as his chest heaved up and down noticeably. "Sure," he wheezed.

She held Paulie close to her as she trekked back to her door, her neighbor in tow. It had just occurred to her that she was inviting who was essentially a stranger into her apartment. For a nightcap. Not the smartest move, especially in good ol' Gotham City. Maybe it was the pity and guilt clouding her judgment, but from what she did know of him he seemed like a good soul and she didn't sense any threat from him.

She shifted Paulie to her opposite shoulder as she moved to open her front door. She stepped in and held the door open with her body, motioning for Arthur to come in. He was rubbing his chest, but was largely quiet. She shut the door and finally let Paulie go.

She noticed Arthur had stopped in the middle of the living room, looking around as if he wasn't sure where he should sit. "Go ahead and have a seat. I don't have a scotch guarded or plastic-covered couch or anything like that." She pursed her lips. Would he find that comment funny and start laughing again? It wasn't really funny, but she wasn't entirely sure what set off Arthur's laughing. She suspected social anxiety played some part in it, but it was hard for her to tell whether she was observing things correctly or projecting her own insecurities onto this conundrum.

She unlocked her liquor cabinet, which sat opposite her couch. She bent over initially, but realizing that would give her neighbor a good view of her ass, she moved to crouch instead. She dug around a bit and found what she was looking for.

She started to make two gin and tonics. "I live alone, obviously, but I inherited some good stuff from my grandparents, who were career alcoholics. I'd rather it not get stolen, so I have it locked up in here, where I keep some everyday stash as well." Arthur said nothing.

She turned around, drinks in hand, to see Paulie had plopped himself next to Arthur, his belly on full display as he rolled around a bit and—purred?

She walked up to this curious sight and held out one of the drinks. "Here ya go neighbor. My name's Jennifer, by the way."

He looked up and smiled at her. "Thank you." He accepted the drink, and held it carefully between his two hands, as if it were a warming cup of coffee or soup. She sat to his right, so Paulie was between the two of them.

"I have to say, I've never seen Paulie warm up to someone like he has with you," she said as she motioned to the feline, who was now rubbing his furry forehead against Arthur's right leg.

"He is very cute, and very sweet," Arthur commented, as he gently stroked Paulie's fur.

"Well, with most people he would be hissing and trying to bite their toes off by now, or have run off to hide under my bed," she admitted.

"That's hard to believe," Arthur said as he continued petting Paulie. He had taken a single drink of the gin and set it aside on her coffee table.

"I guess…." Her mind searched her memory to think of who else Paulie had been friendly with. He loved her best friend, a nurse at Gotham Metro. He liked her grandmother, when she was still alive, right after she had rescued Paulie as a kitten. She couldn't think of anyone else. "I guess he's a good judge of character." She smiled up at Arthur. "And most people aren't great…. Present company excepted."

Arthur's eyes flew up to meet Jennifer's, before quickly looking down. His lips curled into a smile as some of that blush returned to his cheeks and he reached for his drink.


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings: Alcohol drinking, some cursing, punk rock, cat

"What do you do for work?" He asked Jennifer as he took another sip of his drink.

"Secretary for an insurance company." She said simply.

"Is that exciting?"

It was boring as watching paint dry, at least the administrative tasks she dealt with. Many of the cases themselves could be interesting, but at the end of the day, "Everybody wants their payout."

Arthur nodded, but didn't say anything. They continued to nurse their drinks in silence for a bit, before her television caught her eye. "Hey, wanna see something cool?" She said as she lightly jabbed him with her elbow.

His face brightened. "Sure."

Jennifer rose from the couch carefully, so as to try and not disturb Paulie, who seemed content as he lay—eyes closed, throat purring, and paws curled under him—right smack next to Arthur.

"My family used to live in the hills, so we've always had cable, so we could actually watch television. No antennae reception and all that. So, I've always been a little spoiled by having these extra channels…." She switched on her old television and scooped up her remote.

"It's one of my few luxuries," she shrugged. "Besides the booze." She plopped back down next to Paulie and Arthur. "I guess I'm more just used to having them, really. I fall asleep to CNN many nights, it's that boring. But this new channel just debuted. It's called MTV."

She switched her TV's clicker to the right channel. The Rolling Stones appeared on screen. Jennifer continued talking excitedly about these things called "music videos," and which of them so far had been her favorites and which ones were too odd or boring for her tastes.

She realized she had been rambling a bit and stopped talking as she finished off her drink. She noticed Arthur was taking in everything she was saying, though, with an amused smile.

"Sorry. I have no idea if you even care about this stuff. I tend to over share like that. What's your favorite music, if you have any?"

"I love music! I don't listen to the newer stuff too much, though. My mom and I listen to a lot of Frank Sinatra, Jimmy Durante, Perry Como, Nat King Cole, Dinah Shore, that sort of stuff."

Jennifer nodded. "I admittedly never really have those people on my turn table. They…bring up some old memories, for sure." She thought of her parents and grandparents, of times gone by that were not exactly halcyon.

"Are you close with your mother?"

"I take care of her—have for as long as I can remember. She…lives with me," he admitted.

"Oh," she said, somewhat surprised.

"I mean—"

"Hey. There's nothing you have to explain. I took care of my grandmother toward the end, although she was so close to death already…." She turned away. Bringing up that subject stung more than she thought it would.

"Sorry," Arthur said quietly.

"Nothing to worry about," Jennifer said cheerily as she wiped the back of her hand up against her nose quickly. She rose quickly from her couch again; this time Paulie joined her. Even though she just wore culottes, a tank top, and had her hair up in a haphazard bun, she still felt hot, uncomfortable. She went over to her stereo system and started flipping through her records. Paulie was rubbing himself against her legs. Sometimes it hurt her heart how good that cat was.

"I am perfectly fine with letting you borrow any number of my records…if you feel so inclined, of course."

"I better get going…." She turned to see Arthur had rose from her couch. He handed the unfinished glass of gin to her. "My mother's probably wondering where I am."

Jennifer took the glass from him. "Oh, no, God, I imagine I've kept you way too long. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to worry about," he smiled, mirroring her earlier words. "I had a good time."

She smiled back. "Well, you're welcome back any time, Arthur."

He nodded. "I'd like that."

Of course, Paulie felt the need to interject his opinion at that moment. She motioned down to him. "I think he would, too."

...

She didn't see him the rest of the work week. She had been managing to get off work at a reasonable hour that week, so she wondered if maybe he had some random assignments that kept him out to the wee hours, or he was just busy looking after his mother. She didn't know exactly how sick she was, and didn't exactly think it polite to ask the next time she saw him.

She shrugged to herself, as she sat in front of her bathroom mirror and continued applying her eyeliner. She wasn't crazy about the overly smudged look…though she knew by the time the night was over it would look like that anyway. She applied a heavy dose of mascara to both sets of lashes before standing back and surveying her handiwork.

Her hand hovered over her meager collection of lipsticks. She wore exactly one conservative pink shade when she went to work, and wore nothing the rest of the time. But she liked to have a little fun on her nights out. She picked a dark red.

She fluffed up her hair a few times as she grabbed her purse and headed for the door. "I'll be back in a while baby doll," Jennifer said to Paulie. She looked over to see him sitting on her couch, his leg straight up as he was…washing certain things.

"Okay…you have fun with that."

She sighed as the aging elevator made achingly made its way down to the first floor. It shuddered at it reached its destination and the doors slowly slid open.

As soon as her way was clear she rushed out—bumping into someone in the process.

"Oh gosh I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry ma'am."

Wait. "Arthur?"

He looked up and regarded her with a quizzical look. Jennifer?"

"Yeah," she laughed. "It's me." She realized how strange she must have looked compared to when he last saw her: teased hair, intense make up, black leather jacket, torn jeans, and black combat boots. Partly out of nerves and partly out of amusement, Jennifer decided to twirl around so he got a full look of her.

"Uh—" Arthur struggled for words.

"Okay, I swear I look like a normal human being most of the time."

She saw his expression change and worried briefly whether he might fall into a laughing fit, but instead he just smiled. "I kind of like it."

"Thanks!" Her impulsiveness got the better of her. "Oh my gosh, Arthur. You should come with me. I'm going to the Bowery to see this up and coming band, called Killing Joke. You should totally come with," she said as she gently tugged on his free arm, avoiding the one holding a single bag of groceries.

"Oh I don't know, I don't normally—"

"C'mon, it'll be fun! Let someone else entertain you for a change, huh?"

At her saying that, something seemed to click. "You know what, sure."

….

Jennifer waited downstairs while Arthur took care of whatever he needed to before he could join her. He emerged from the elevator, his hands stuck in his pockets.

She smiled as she lifted herself off of the wall she was leaning against. "Ready?"

"Yeah. I have to admit, I don't know where this is…."

She winked at him. "I know the way."

….

The Bowery was an abandoned meat packing plant in the Coventry neighborhood of Gotham. Turned into a dive bar/music venue by its latest owner in the late 1970s, it was meant to attract punk rockers and their fans. It also happened to be one of her favorite haunts on Saturday night.

"I know the bartender there, Earl. He's pretty sweet on me, I guess because I tip relatively well, or just at all." She chuckled.

She knew the two of them made an interesting couple: the punk rocker and the quiet, conservative guy sitting next to her on the subway. He wasn't really dressed for the Bowery, but she didn't care, and didn't really think anyone else would, either. "Squares," from school teachers to investment bankers, would regularly visit the place, she supposed out of some morbid curiosity. She just counted her lucky stars she never saw her boss there.

The Bowery was definitely active when they both arrived. Everyone was excited to see an act like Killing Joke. They stepped inside.

It was loud. Very loud, though not intolerably so. She saw some familiar faces as she lead the way to the bar.

"Hi Earl! Two tequila shots, huh?"

"Sure honey," Earl responded before turning to the racks of alcohol behind him. He turned back to her with with two shot glasses in hand.

"Thanks!" She slapped down some cash before taking the glasses and handing one to Arthur.

"Bottom's up!" She said before kicking back the tequila. Arthur hesitated, but eventually followed suit. To his credit, he didn't choke at all; just made a sour face.

They found a relatively comfortable place to watch the show from. Every once and a while, she could hear his laughter—that high pitched chuckle that reverberated from deep in his chest, but besides bothering a few people immediately around them, it was too drowned out by the music for it to really be noticed.

Almost an hour passed when she noticed that Arthur seemed vaguely uncomfortable. He was shifting from foot to foot and folding and remolding his arms a lot.

"You ready to go?" she asked him with a friendly smile.

He shook his head. "The show's not over."

"It's okay. I'm pretty tired as well."

She took his hand before leading the way through the thronging crowd in the Browery. She didn't notice straightaway when Arthur had bumped hard into a nasty bloke with more face piercings than hair on his head.

"Hey," he grabbed Arthur by the edge of his jacket and yanked him from her grasp.

"S-sorry!" He semi-yelled to the man, who seemingly had no intention of letting Arthur go.

"Hey!" She shoved her way in between two men. "It was a fucking accident, okay?" She glared at the man.

"Let 'em go Chauncey…." Earl warned from his perch behind the bar.

The man let go of Arthur. He eyed the both Jennifer and Arthur with narrowed eyes before turning his attention back to the stage.

She tipped an imaginary hat to Earl before taking Arthur by the hand again and continuing their exit.

….

Once outside, they both took a breath of fresh air—which was somewhat a mistake as the trash outside made it not that fresh. They both coughed a bit.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Arthur retrieve a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches from his coat pocket. "That was…quite intense," he said with a lit cigarette bouncing on his lip.

"That's why I enjoy it so much! It's so different from my normal, boring every day life."

The two of them walked in companionable silence for a while, as they headed for the nearest metro station.

Arthur took a long drag of his cigarette. "Don't think I've known anyone quite like you, Jennifer."

"Thank you. I pride myself on not being like anyone else, to a degree."

Another beat.

"I don't think I've known anyone quite like you, either."

Arthur looked at her, then looked down. Took another drag. "Is that bad?"

"Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually." She went to shove her hands in her leather jacket to protect them from the cold, but she left one out and held it out toward him. He gave her an askance smile before taking it in his own.


	3. Chapter 3

Warnings: Mom stuff

A/N: I promise the next chapter will finally tap into the movie plot

The next time they saw each other was that Monday as they both arrived home from work, and a few more times that week. He took her up on her offer of listening to some of her albums. They sat on her floor and sampled several of them one afternoon. It was so much music he had never really been exposed to: The Ramones, The Clash, The Sex Pistols, Joy Division, to Fleetwood Mac, The Police, David Bowie, Steely Dan, to Michael Jackson, Stevie Wonder, Warren Zevon, and more. Some of it he liked and some of it he didn't.

One day she heard a knock on the door and he had bought sardines for Paulie. She held the aluminum can in her hand like it was gold. "Oh, thank you. He'll love that." She invited him in and they both talked for a good three hours before he had to head home to check on his mother. Paulie sat in his lap for at least three quarters of that time, which just continued to amaze her.

That Friday Jennifer made a big pot of roast beef stew. Her thought was to subsist on it through the weekend, so she could be a bit lazy and not even have to cook that Saturday or Sunday, but it seemed like she had so much she'd still have a heap of leftovers by Monday. It dawned on her this might be her excuse to drop by and meet Mamma Fleck.

She spooned out a good portion into a sealable glass dish before heading over. She was pretty sure Arthur was home; she could hear talking inside. She knocked gingerly three times on the door.

The door opened while still locked on its chain and Arthur peered at her through the crack. "Oh!" He undid the chain and opened the door wider. "Hi!"

"Hey there." She held up the dish. "Ya know I made all this extra stew and realized Paulie and I probably won't be able to finish it before it goes bad, so I thought..." She handed it over.

He smiled widely. "That's sweet, thank you." He took it from her. He admired the food through the glass Pyrex, as if he hadn't seen something so delicious in a long time.

"Um, you don't have to, but, if you want to introduce me to your mom, I'd like to meet her."

The smile disappeared from Arthur's face. "Oh..." He looked back inside, then back to Jennifer. He seemed to struggle with whether to in fact invite her in, but he ultimately relented. "Sure," he breathed.

She stepped inside. The apartment's layout was a mirror image of her own. Which made her wonder briefly who slept where, as she knew hers was a one bedroom.

"Mom, I have someone I want you to meet," he called out. He deposited her dish in their fridge before leading her into the living room. Sitting in a high backed chair was a frail woman with fading strawberry blonde hair, blanket draped over her lap. Arthur introduced her, and said his mother's name was Penny. She seemed a bit perplexed at her presence, but she did smile at her. "Hello."

She made a small wave. "Hi there. Nice to meet ya."

She assumed like so many mothers Penny would make a crack to her son about Jennifer being his new girlfriend, or at least some coy remark about spending so much time with him lately. But she simply turned her attention back to the television set in their living room.

Arthur motioned to their couch. "Please, sit."

"Uh, sure."

Arthur lit a cigarette before they both started talking about how their respective days had gone. Penny continued to sit quietly, paying the both of them no mind.

The only life she saw from her was when a campaign ad came on the screen, one for Thomas Wayne's mayoral campaign. "Oh look Happy, look who it is," she said to Arthur as she held a shaking hand out to him.

Arthur sighed in frustration. "I see it, Ma."

Jennifer groaned inwardly. Wayne had his tentacles in nearly everything in Gotham, including her insurance company. Now he wanted to be mayor, too.

Arthur's annoyance didn't seem to subside until the commercial ended, even then something seemed to preoccupy him.

"I better get going. Early morning tomorrow, and all that." She stood. "Again, nice to meet you, Mrs. Fleck."

Penny turned away from her television. "Oh yes, nice to meet you." And back to the screen.

Arthur walked her back to her place. "Sorry about mom, she's..."

"Stuck in her own little world?" she supplied.

Arthur considered that. "Yeah, I guess you can say that."

"It's okay. I've known a few people like that in my life." She hugged herself. "Just hope it doesn't take too much of a toll on you."

There was something about Arthur's response that told her no one had really considered that before, including himself. "It's...it's okay."

She gave him a hug, a beat after realizing the hug was not asked for and may have been unwanted, so she went to draw back, but his arms came up quickly to wrap around her in return. They stood like that for who knew how long.

Eventually, they both drew back. "I'll see you, maybe tomorrow?"

"Okay," he said as he gave her a tender smile that told her she was in trouble.


	4. Chapter 4

Jennifer stared up at the popcorn ceiling in her small office space, trying to make out any possible patterns or letters or numbers. She sighed; she couldn't really see anything, except maybe the scowling face of her supervisor, but that was always sort of floating around somewhere in her mind-she'd seen it so many times.

She started when the telephone at her desk rang. "Shit." She hated when they called during lunch.

She picked up the receiver. "Platinum Insurance Services, this is Ms. Cullen, how can I be of service?"

"Oh cut the crap," the voice of Nancy, her friend who nursed the sick and dying at Gotham Metro, said over the line. "It's me."

Jennifer shifted in her seat as she glanced around; no one was looking. "Hey...why are you calling me at work?" She took up a pen and pad of paper so she at least appeared to be working.

"Well, your boyfriend is here, for one."

"Excuse me, what now?"

"Goes by the name of Arthur Fleck. Adorable but depressed, kind of like Eeyore. Works as a clown. Lives in your same building. You guys may or may not have-"

"Okay, yeah that all-mostly sounds familiar. What is he doing there?"

"Well, apparently he got the shit beat out of him while he was at work. Bunch of punk kids, it sounds like. Jumped him. Did quite a number on him, too. Plenty of lacerations and contusions, especially around his ribs. He's lucky it wasn't worse, actually."

Jennifer rubbed the bridge of her nose before throwing her hands out. "Who the fuck jumps a clown?"

Nancy sighed. "I donno, but he's not doing so great. Put him on some pain killers, but the doc and I are a little wary of just letting him hop, skip and a jump home by himself. We tried calling his emergency contact, a Penelope Fleck, but he insisted that we don't."

"I don't blame him," Jennifer said under her breath.

"Huh?"

"Nothing, nothing. I guess you're pressing me into service, then?"

"Well, he is your-"

"We're not dating," she stated, maybe a little more sharply than intended.

"Neighbor," Nancy finished. "But whatever you say..." she smiled.

Jennifer rolled her eyes. "Okay, just try to keep him there for at least an hour. I need to coax my handlers into letting me go home early, then try and grab a taxi or something..." she said in an increasingly low whisper.

"I'll come up with something," Nancy assured her.

"Thanks. See you in a bit." Jennifer replaced the receiver on the phone cradle. She put her head in her hands and blew out a breath of tension. Why did people have to be such fucking assholes?

...

Something in Jennifer recoiled the minute she set food in the hospital. It looked, smelled, and felt of bleached white surfaces, all around her. Definitely some graffiti, here and there, but the place was Mr. Clean's wet dream compared to the much of the rest of the city. Still, hospitals made her skin crawl and conjured memories she'd rather stay forgotten.

She traveled up to the fifth floor and stopped at the nurses' desk. She looked around but didn't see Nancy right away. "Here for an Arthur Fleck?"

A graying woman in a starched white uniform sitting behind the desk didn't even look up from her files. "Name?"

"Uh, Jennifer Cullen."

"Oh, the girlfriend."

She was going to kill Nancy.

"Uh...yeah."

"This way."

The gray nurse rose slowly from her seat, but stopped when Nancy finally appeared. "It's alright Grace, I got it."

Nurse Gray Grace lowered herself onto her chair without further acknowledgment of Jennifer or Nancy.

Jennifer rounded the nurse's station and followed Nancy, who looked at her friend sheepishly. "Sorry about the girlfriend routine, but if you aren't some kind of family admin gets funny about who can see patients and traipse around the hospital."

Jennifer sighed. "Arthur hasn't heard anyone refer to me by that title, has he?"

"No no...although I'm not sure if he's out of it enough that he'd really notice."

"Jeeeze, is he really that bad off?"

Nancy sighed this time. "Compared to the shit I see everyday, not really...but you know our cautious doctors and their love of overcharging everyone's insurance with excessive treatment."

"Is he...really loopy or anything?"

"Not really, last I checked. Although the guy doesn't speak much."

"Okay..."

Nancy stopped in front of a closed exam room. "In here," she said, before turning the knob and holding the door open for her. Jennifer stepped inside to see Arthur sitting on one of the numerous plastic and vinyl chairs that were scattered all over the hospital. His hands were in his lap and his chin rested on his chest.

She turned and nodded to Nancy, who nodded back before wordlessly shutting the door, leaving the two of them alone in the exam room. She strode up to Arthur, but even the click of her heels against the linoleum floor didn't seem to break him from his semi-stupor.

She sighed, before knocking one of her heeled feet against one of the front legs of his chair to get his attention. "Hey there sport."

Arthur finally looked up. He tried to put on a week smile. "Hi." A confused look came over his face. "How are you here?"

"My friend let me know you were here," Jennifer said quietly.

"You...you look so different." Yeah, she probably did. She realized then that he'd never seen her in her "uniform" before: long skirt, long blazer, soft blouse, heels and a neat bun at the nape of her neck. All pastels and non-threatening conformity. Jennifer peeled off the facade as soon she stepped through her front door every night.

"Yeah..." she blew out. "I hate it, but I just came from work, so..." She looked Arthur over. "It sounds—and looks—like you just did, too." He had on his oversized shoes, baggy pants with the hobo patches, orange vest beneath a red, white, and blue plaid jacket, even the green wig and tiny bowler hat. His clown make up had been mostly washed off, though; it looked like bruises were developing on his face.

Jennifer looked away for a moment, before sitting next to him in another cheap plastic and vinyl chair.

"What happened?" she asked gently.

Arthur took a few ragged breaths. "I was supposed to stand outside this store that's going out of business and hold an Everything Must Go sign, twirl it around to get people's attention, ya know. Out of nowhere, this kid, knocked the sign out of my hand, and he and his friends just made off with it! So I chased after them, 'cause I didn't want to lose their sign, and eventually I caught up to them, but..."

She gave him his time.

"They..." He shifted in his seat. She could tell a laugh was bubbling up to the surface. "They smashed it against my face, came out of nowhere and smashed it against my face. Ha ha—then they knocked me to the ground—hah, hah, hah—and kicked me, over and over—"

Her hand was covering her mouth, trying to suppress a visceral reaction of her own.

"They ran off, but the sign was smashed—" The laugh came in full force, and Arthur bent over in pain.

Jennifer reached over and started rubbing Arthur's back. "It's okay," she whispered. The laughing subsided.

She turned in her seat. "Arthur, I solemnly swear on my grandmother's grave, if we're ever together and you see one of those fuckers, I will walk up to him and knee him in the balls so hard he can never breed."

He chuckled—not the involuntary laugh that would shake his whole body—but a light laugh that would brighten his face. "I'd like that."

"I've come to bring you home, Arthur," she said gently.

He looked at her, disbelieving at first, then with a look of relief and—God he was breaking her heart—sad appreciation. "I...really?"

"Of course. What are friends for?" she added, possibly subconsciously rebuffing all the boyfriend-girlfriend language that had been lobbed at her for the past hour or two.

"But, my mother..."

"You can recoup at my place for a bit. Though...you probably should tell her?" She wasn't sure she was giving the most sound advice there; this could cause his mother to freak out, or worse for Arthur, she wouldn't really respond to it at all. "But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Arthur said nothing, falling back into his quiet, drug-addled thoughts.

Jennifer pursed her lips. She reached out and took Arthur's right hand, and turned it so it was covering hers. She rubbed the side of his palm with her thumb.

It worked; it got his attention, as he sat up straighter in the chair, and his eyes opened wider.

"May I?" She said as she gently tugged on his wig with her other hand. He nodded, and she moved to gently remove it from his head; the little bowler hat, attached, came with it. "Cute," she said, as she flicked it with her thumb and middle finger. He smiled.

"You don't have to do all this."

"Do what?"

"Have pity on me."

"Maybe it's not pity."

The blush returned.

Jennifer sat back in her chair; she was still holding his hand. "I did tell my boss my plumbing broke and my apartment was filling up with water, so if you could like, break some of my pipes later, that would be great."

That chuckle. Jennifer breathed a sigh of relief when it didn't turn into a full blown laugh. "Okay, I'll see what I can do."

She squeezed his hand. "Let's go home."

...

Once Arthur was given his discharge papers, Jennifer hailed a taxi that dropped them off at their apartment building. The cabbie shot them a questioning look when they first got in, but a good glare from her and he stopped.

She forgot how quiet her apartment was in the afternoons when she'd normally be at work. Even the unemployed tenants were usually out and about by that time, hustling for work or something else.

Paulie was there to greet them as they walked through the door. He mewed several times; she was sure she was getting the fifth degree. He'd want to be fed early, just because she was home, but it wasn't gonna happen.

Arthur collapsed onto her couch.

"Do you want to change? I could maybe sneak into your apartment and grab some clothes?"

"It's okay..." He reached forward for the plaid duffle bag he'd been carrying around. He reached in and pulled out a burgundy pullover. The colorful blazer and vest were cast aside, as well as a button down he'd been wearing beneath them. That's when she saw the bandaging wound tightly around his battered ribs. Seeing all this made Jennifer wonder why he had just changed back into his costume, but then Gotham Metro wasn't the warmest place, and seeing him shirtless for the first time made her realize just how thin he was. He must have been cold a lot.

She felt the opposite at that moment. She excused herself so she could change in her bedroom and to leave him to finish changing himself.

Jennifer shed her office wear and pulled on some not-torn jeans and a stripped, short sleeved top. She thought of taking off her makeup, but something compelled her to leave it on.

After what seemed like an acceptable amount of time, she emerged from her room into the living room. Arthur sat on her couch, rubbing his sides. A scowl had settled on his face.

Jennifer marched over to the telephone she had hanging on a nail in her kitchen wall. "How about we order a big fat, greasy pizza?"

He let out a breath. "That sounds perfect."

They decided on toppings pretty quickly—luckily their tastes in that regard seemed to be pretty similar.

Once the pizza was on its way, Jennifer made a beeline for her liquor cabinet, but stopped short. Arthur shouldn't be drinking anything in his state, and it felt awkward to imbibe without being able to offer her guest any. She made herself a cup of tea instead.

She placed a cup of water in front of Arthur on her coffee table, along with a couple of ibuprofen from the bottle they'd given him. "Bottom's up."

"Jennifer?"

"Yeah? Oof-" She turned around and suddenly found herself in Arthur's embrace. His arms encircled her waist while he lay his head against her chest. This should feel more awkward, she thought, but it didn't. All her concern in that moment was on his well-being...but she'd be lying if she said she didn't get something out of this closeness. She kissed the top of his forehead and rubbed his back reassuringly.


	5. Chapter 5

Warnings: None that I can think of. Mild language?

A/N: None.

Jennifer shut the door behind her after throwing the pizza box down the building's thrash chute. It was nearing 9 o'clock. The two of them had been eating, talking, watching TV. Not paying attention to reality as much as possible.

She sat down next to Arthur, who was watching her TV and smoking. "How are you feeling?"

He smiled at her. "Better."

"That's good!" She pursed her lips. "Do you think you're ready to face your mother?" He'd told her earlier he sometimes kept odd hours because of his work, or because he had to run errands or the like. But he usually tried to be home before 10 PM when he'd make sure she had whatever she needed before they would watch Live with Murray Franklin and she would head off to bed.

He took a deep breath. "I guess so." He went to stand up, but he winched and sat back down. "If I can." He had not really moved from her couch all night, so he hadn't really tested his strength yet.

"Nancy told me it might get worse before it gets better," she sighed, talking about his pain.

Arthur forced himself to stand. "I should go see how she is."

Jennifer stood as well. "Hey."

He turned around.

"Are you…sleeping over there?"

"I…don't understand what you're asking?"

She sighed. "I mean. Unless your mom is the one sleeping on the couch over there–which I have my doubts–I have to imagine you are. And that would probably be pretty painful in your state."

Arthur shrugged. "It's fine, I mean, I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Yes you do."

"I don't–"

Jennifer looked away, then back at him. "Look, I don't know how bad off your mom is. If you need to be there all night to make sure she doesn't fall or swallow her tongue or anything, but if not…. You can take my bed and I can sleep on my couch."

That look again. That look that tore at her heart. That look of gentleness and appreciation, but also some disbelief. "That's…that's kind of you, but you don't have to put yourself out–"

"Oh please. Half the nights I'm out here sleeping on the couch with Paulie, watching CNN. Remember?"

Arthur considered it. He briefly glanced over at her bedroom, before looking away. "I don't know. My mom's fine, for the most part, throughout the night. But…." He blushed again. He stepped a bit closer to her and semi-whispered, "What would she say if she knew I was in another woman's bed overnight?"

"It's none of her Goddamn business."

She'd thought he'd gotten used to her brashness, but he did look a little shocked at her saying that.

"Sorry, but we're friends, and it's not that big a deal. If she brings it up, maybe remind her you don't have your own bed."

"Well," he said as he stood up a little straighter. "Maybe I will. Or, I'll just wait 'til she's asleep and sneak out."

Jennifer rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she smirked. "Just try to come back by twelve. That's when I usually pass out."

….

After Arthur left Jennifer busied herself with preparing for bed. She dragged out one of her pillows and a spare blanket from her bedroom to her couch. She did question herself mentally whether there was anything in her bedroom or bathroom that she didn't want him to chance upon, but after a quick check she was assured her living space was acceptable to male company.

Male company. Had been a while since she had any of that. Six months? A year? Something like that. And it wasn't really anything to write home about, if she'd still had a home to write back to.

She snuggled herself into her usual spot on the couch and switched the channel from MTV to CNN. Paulie settled next to her. It was maybe an hour later when she heard a knock on the door.

"Come on in!" she yelled out, then heard a few knocks from her upstairs neighbor. "Yeah yeah!" she said up to her ceiling as Arthur stepped into her apartment.

"What?"

"Nothing, just our lovely neighbors."

Jennifer extricated herself from her blanket and cat and approached Arthur, who had changed into a long sleeve shirt and pajama bottoms.

She jerked her head toward her bedroom, which he followed her into.

"So, my alarm clock goes off pretty early, around 5 AM. Just all the hassle of getting one's hair and make-up ready for the day takes up so much time in the mornings–" She turned back to Arthur, "But then…I guess you of all you people would understand that."

"Sort of," he said. "But we all get ready at work before we go to a job."

"Ah…. Well, actually, when do you have to get up for work? I can reset the alarm." Jennifer scooped up her alarm clock and started fiddling with the dials on the back.

"I'm not working tomorrow, actually."

She stopped fiddling with the clock. "Oh."

He sat down on the bed next to her. "I mean, you could still set it. I'm seeing my social worker tomorrow. I see her once a month…." He looked down, a darkness set over his face.

"Um, what do you see her for?" she asked as she turned toward him. "If you don't mind me asking," she quickly added.

"Mandated therapy, once a month," he repeated. "Ever since I…." The thought was never finished. He went on to talk about being on different medications, and seeing her in part to get his prescriptions renewed or changed.

Jennifer nodded. "Makes sense." She looked down at her clock, then up at Arthur. "What time do you want to get up?"

"You can keep it at 5."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure? I mean, if you don't have to get up that early."

"If if means we could have some coffee in the morning before you leave for work, then it's fine."

She smiled involuntarily. "Okay." She set her alarm clock back on her end table. She turned back to Arthur, and it suddenly dawned on her that they was sitting just inches apart, on her bed. Neither of them said anything for a few moments, just making occasional eye contact before looking away. Like a couple of awkward high school-aged kids.

She wondered if he felt it too–this headiness that enveloped her and filled the room. She'd be lying if she said the thought of reaching over and kissing him hadn't entered her brain at least a couple of times already in their short friendship, and some part of her suspected it had entered his brain at least once, but this felt like such a dangerous space and bad time to entertain those thoughts.

Jennifer shot up from her bed. "Well, I'll see ya tomorrow morning." She went to shut the door. "Sleep tight–"

"Could–could you keep the door open?"

"Sure," she smiled reassuringly. "Night."

"Night," he replied.


	6. Chapter 6

Warnings: Shitty therapy, alcohol use, cat

A/N: I love writing. I hate editing. I am happy with the name I picked out for our love interest (look up the history behind "Jennifer," you'll see what I'm talking about). On to the show...

When Jennifer awoke the next morning, it was before the other alarm clock she had in her living room had gone off. There was something about having another person-a man-Arthur-in her apartment, that had her extra aware of her surroundings. Not in a negative sense...in fact, she could have sworn she woke up with a smile on her face.

She looked down to see that Paulie wasn't with her. She sat up lazily from where she lay on the couch. "Paulie?" she called out in a quiet, scratchy voice. She looked around as she rubbed her neck. A thought came to her as she looked at her bedroom.

Jennifer got up and padded quietly to her bedroom door. She peeked in. Arthur was sleeping in a semi-fetal position, facing to the left, and settled close to him was Paulie, also laying on his side, facing Arthur. Both were under the bed covers.

Damn. This sight was so adorable, she thought her heart might explode from it. If she knew where she hid her Poloroid camera away, she might have grabbed it and snapped a photo of this moment forever.

Suddenly she remembered what Arthur said the previous night about coffee. She went to start a pot brewing.

...

"...There's this girl..."

Deborah Kane looked up from her case file, but didn't say anything.

"Woman," Arthur corrected. "She lives a few doors down."

"The single mother?"

Arthur was surprised she'd remember that. "No. This is someone else. Someone else entirely."

Kane said nothing, just waited.

Arthur hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted to discuss Jennifer. A part of him certainly wanted to. To give every detail about this new person in his life-what she was like, what she had already taught him, and how she had been kind to him. But another part of him wanted to jealously guard the fact of her existence, to keep her all to himself. As if revealing her to anyone-besides his mother-would spoil things or make her disappear.

He also had a practical concern. It had to do with his medication and things he could remember being told or reading once about how they could impede a man's ability to...please a woman. But even the thought of uttering those concerns out loud made him nauseous. He also wondered whether he had any right to even entertain such thoughts.

"Never mind," he said on an exhale of cloud smoke.

Kane scrawled a short note into his file anyway.

...

Her workday was fairly miserable as expected. She had to catch up on work from the day before and her boss was clearly still unhappy about her leaving early at all the day before. At least he didn't ask to call her landlord or for any other sort of proof about the broken plumbing story.

Jennifer came home fairly late. She'd managed to catch the 6:15 train and arrive home close to 7. She emerged out of the elevator to see a familiar face sitting on the floor in front of her door. That scowl was on his face again.

"Well, I wasn't expecting a package today," she said as she sauntered up to him.

The scowl dissolved into a smile. "Hey."

"Hey yourself. How'd therapy go?"

He shrugged. "Okay." He took a draw on a cigarette she hadn't previously noticed. As he stood up, he moved the jacket draped over his hands, revealing a rolled up pharmacy bag clutched in his grasp. She recognized the name and logo from the pharmacy down the hill from their building.

"Want a whiskey neat to wash those down with?" she asked as she pointed to the bag.

"I probably shouldn't..."

"Well, I am certainly going to have one," Jennifer said as she flipped through her the keys on her key chain and, upon finding the apartment key, unlocked her door.

There was Paulie again. Ready to greet the two of them. Ready to demand feeding.

"Yeah, yeah. Can the humans eat first?" Jennifer said as she dropped her bags onto her kitchen counter.

Arthur sat on one of the three pub chairs that stood on the living room-side of that kitchen counter. "I was just gonna make myself a bologna sandwich, nothing fancy, but I can certainly make seconds," she offered.

"Sounds good," he smiled.

She shed her blazer and kicked off her shoes. She went about gathering together the few sandwich makings she had on hand.

She looked up at Arthur, who was leaning forward, his head perched on his left hand. There was residing on his features the faintest smile. She couldn't tell if it was him trying to be polite or...something else.

Jennifer stuck out her tongue out at him at one point to relieve her own tension at being so closely watched-then kicked herself, wondering if it would set him off somehow. He just smiled a little wider.

She set out everything and started assembling. "Does the therapy help? Talking to someone?" she asked Arthur, unwittingly echoing what his therapist had asked earlier that day.

The smile faded. He dropped his arm. Shifted in his chair. He started to laugh, but dryly, cynically. "It's something to do on a Tuesday."

She smiled bitterly to herself.

"I...actually went to therapy for a while. After... certain things." She threw out her now empty bologna package into the trash.

She shook her head. "Sometimes, certain things never really heal, no matter how much you rub salve on them."

That darkness crept over his features again. "Seems like that." He reached for his pharmacy bottles as she finished up with the sandwiches. Jennifer placed one on a plate, which she set before him.

"Absolutely sure you don't want a whiskey to wash those down with?" she asked as she headed for her liquor stash.

"Nah, I'm fine," he answered.

She returned with a mostly-full glass. She took a large swig before picking up her own sandwich.

"I'll have a water, though."

She stopped as she was about to take a bite. "Coming right up," she smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

Warnings: Self harm I guess? Language

A/N: Uh-oh, someone's ear is in danger of having hair brushed over it….

The next day she knew her boss was starting his vacation, so she wore her leather moto jacket over her work clothes to and from work. It still garnered her some stares from other co-workers, but she honestly didn't give a fuck at that point.

Jennifer had her hands shoved into her pockets on the way home, a thin scarf wrapped around her neck and tucked into the zipped-up jacket. It was getting gradually colder as the calendar moved into the last quarter of the year.

She turned a corner. She was now on her street and less than two blocks from the apartment building. Her eyes darted around involuntarily. She wanted to punch herself in the face; now she was even starting to look for him everywhere, expecting and hoping she'd bump into him even in a place as big as Gotham City. Like some stupid girl school crush.

It was just friendship, she reminded herself over and over. A nice one. One that stirred many pleasant feelings she hadn't felt in a long time.

So much about their relationship felt natural, easy. Which struck her as so strange, because he was so unlike the people she usually gravitated towards, or who gravitated towards her. Tough, brash, cynical. Friendly but…hard, because they had to be. Arthur was so much more of a gentle soul. Definitely depressed–who wasn't in Gotham?–but he had an element of innocence in him she rarely saw in anyone else.

Now, his awkwardness certainty did remind her of someone…. It was just easier for her to hide that aspect of her character behind the brusque exterior. Arthur wore his heart on his sleeve.

Jennifer continued walking. She shivered against the cold as she noticed the sky above her had turned gray, dark.

She wasn't sure at first, but the figure that had just rounded the corner looked familiar. Nope–it was definitely him. As if her thoughts had the power to conjure him up at any moment. Something wasn't right, though.

"Art–Arthur!" she rushed up to him. "Are–are you limping?"

He didn't seem to notice her at first. It was fairly noisy around them, but she hadn't exactly been as quiet as a church mouse, either.

She practically had to bump into him before he'd acknowledge her. "Hey, what's going on?"

He finally turned towards her. The scowl again, but mixed with something else…fatigue, wariness?

"Oh hi, Jennifer. How are you?" There was something insincere about his demeanor. It was a smile worn over the surface, like a mask.

They continued to walk through the courtyard of their building, toward the front entrance. She said nothing as they entered the building together; she watched him carefully as he went to check his mailbox, finding nothing but a flier for a new Chinese restaurant inside, which he quickly tossed.

She let him walk ahead of her for several feet, as he headed for the elevator. "Stop right there."

He turned around and faced her.

"You're limping and you're going to march–or, walk, as carefully as possible–straight up my apartment and tell me why."

His shoulders drooped. "It's…it's nothing. I was just stupid earlier." He looked utterly defeated.

Jennifer stepped up to him–so close they weren't even a few inches apart. "My apartment, Mister. Post-haste."

A real, genuine smile grew on his face. "O–okay." He nodded eagerly.

….

He flopped down on her couch. "I did it to myself."

"Okay," she said slowly. "How?"

He started to take off his shoes. "Just…a bad day at work."

"What happened?" she said as she sat down cross-legged on her coffee table in front of him. She thanked herself mentally for having chosen slacks that morning.

He shook his head, sighed. Hesitated.

Jennifer waited patiently.

"That sign…thing, that happened on Monday?"

"Yeah?"

"Hoyt–he's my boss–he had me come into his office. Said the business complained about me leaving, said I took their sign." He avoided making eye contact with her.

"That makes absolutely no sense. Why would you want a sign?"

"That's what I said, and I told him I got jumped. But he said…said that made no sense. Why would I get jumped for a sign by a bunch of kids?"

"Yeah."

"But I asked, why would I even keep the sign for myself? And he said, I don't know, why do people do anything?"

She pursued her lips and nodded, looked away. Yep, she'd heard this sort of bullshit before. "He sounds a lot like my boss, actually," she clicked. "Will try to use logic against you, then will argue logic doesn't exist."

Arthur set his jaw. "I just…. I didn't take it!"

"I know that, but pricks like him don't care."

Arthur put his hands in his head as he moved forward, then proceeded to wince. He bent forward and peeled off his socks, revealing his left foot to be red, swollen, and bleeding a bit in some places.

"Jesus!" she hissed. "Did your boss proceed to beat you or something?"

"No, no, this was me."

"Huh?"

Arthur sighed. "It's…stupid. I…"

She waited.

"I guess I took it out on some garbage, out back."

Jennifer nodded. She looked around her apartment. She pointed to some shelves in the corner of the room. "See that set of glass dishes back there?"

Arthur looked. "Yeah."

She turned back to him. "I used to have six goblets in the set. There's a reason there's only four now."

He looked at her a bit confused, then realized. "Oh."

"In fact, there's probably small pieces of them still embedded in that wall there, as hard as I threw them," she smiled, motioning to the wall behind him.

He even turned around and looked. Then looked back at her with a smile. She patted him on the leg. "Let's get that leg taken care of."

….

She had plenty of ice packs and first aid supplies. A consequence of hanging around a lot of punk clubs and venues, Jennifer explained. Carefully, she had washed off the blood with warm water and peroxide–

"Ow!"

"Sorry! Just don't want any of this to get infected. You were kicking around trash earlier."

–and she'd managed to bring down a lot of the swelling. She'd more or less forced him to take some more ibuprofen to help with all the pain.

They were now both sitting on her couch, watching TV, Arthur's leg propped up on a throw pillow on her coffee table. Jennifer was sitting to his left, and she would lightly swat him if he tried to take his injured leg off the coffee table.

At one point, the leg moved, and she went to swat, but he caught her hand instead. Held onto it.

"Can I…."

"Can you what?"

"Can I…" he let out a shaky breath. His hand was slightly shaking, too. He closed his eyes. "Can I kiss your hand?"

She didn't believe she had heard right at first. Then, "Ye–yes."

He brought her hand up to his lips, and slowly pressed his lips to the back of her hand. He stared down at it for a moment, before turning it over.

Jennifer watched him intently. The look on his face was all consternation, focus.

He rubbed his thumb along her palm a few times. He raised her hand again, but instead of kissing said palm, he brought his lips down on her wrist, and let them linger there for a few seconds.

She felt it, strong-the electric shock that contact produced, as it ricocheted through her body. A small whimper sounded from within her throat.

He suddenly let go.

"I better go," he said as he quickly rose from the couch. "Thanks, um, for everything," he said while half-looking at her, before rushing out of her apartment, closing her door behind him.

"Um, okay," she said to herself as she threw her hands up, befuddled and more than a little disappointed. Left alone to listen to the rain falling outside.


	8. Chapter 8

Warnings: None really

A/N: So I split the latest chapter I've been working on into two. They each ended up being almost exactly 1420. I am just that good. Anyway, more fanfic for you.

Jennifer couldn't sleep that night. Her mind kept going back to that wrist kiss. How arousing it was, obviously, but how it also meant her feelings were seemingly mutual. But it also left her wondering what on earth she was supposed to do next. She was definitely not the type to sit around waiting for the guy to act, to make the next move. That turned some guys off, though, and she worried Arthur could be one of those.

On the other hand, she was surprised Arthur had gathered up the courage to do what he just did. She worried then maybe he got the impression that the kiss was unwanted, or not good enough. Why else did he up and get out of Dodge so quickly?

Well, besides maybe the awkwardness of the whole thing…. She wondered how much of this was uncharted terrain for him. He seemed so shy, so…she hated to say it, but unworldly.

By the time she was finally starting to doze off, a gun shot rang out from somewhere in the building. She couldn't tell from where; she was too out of it by that time. It didn't sound like her floor. Either way, she wasn't going to stalk around the building, trying to find its source. Something about it still bothered her, though, somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach.

….

Her thoughts were still on Arthur throughout much of her work day. Unfortunately, she was never really the type who could distract herself from something weighing on her with work; it was usually the other way around. By the end of the day she had also concluded that this was more than friendship, and she was going to have to at least try to make it more than that officially.

There was no Arthur sitting on her front door when she got home. Jennifer sighed, looking down the hall at his door. She hadn't visited him in his own habitat much during their relationship–he strangely seemed more at home in her apartment than his own–but it felt like she didn't have much choice this time around.

Jennifer changed into an old pair of bell bottoms and a knit sweater with sleeves that ended at her elbows. Looking at herself in the mirror brought back memories of her adolescence. She shut her eyes, took a shaky breath. She supposed she could use some of that stupid hope and innocent foolhardiness she had had before everything was taken away from her, that one January night….

….

She hesitated a moment, before placing three hard knocks on Arthur's door. It was quiet inside. She hated not even knowing if he was home. She possibly worked herself up for nothing. Or worse, his mother would be the one to answer, though she doubted whether Mrs. Fleck ever answered her own front door.

The door opened, and Arthur was on the other side. Not wearing a shirt. Hair wet and slicked back, like he had just taken a shower. "Oh. Hey."

"Hi there," she said, trying to keep her eyes level with his. "Sorry for just dropping in, but if you wanted to hang out"–she started to motion toward her own apartment, but stopped when Arthur opened his door wide.

"Come on in."

"Oh. Okay…." Jennifer stepped inside. His television was on, switched to an old black and white movie, the volume on low.

She looked around. "Is your mom here?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"Bingo," was all Arthur said, before taking a drag on a cigarette.

"Ah," she responded, nodding once. She kept looking around. Jennifer could feel herself starting to panic. She had no reason for being there. There was no food to share or cat to find. No reason but the exact reason she came over there for, but she wanted to avoid, delay.

Some small talk would have to do for the time being. "How's your leg…and your back…and your face?"

"A little better," he said. Took a drag. "Though not too much."

"I'm sorry," she shook her head. Why did he seem so much more confident in that moment than she was? Could he sense her nervousness? Or was it just the fact that she was in his domain rather than hers? With no mother around, no less? Or was it all just in her head?

"…Wh–what have you been up to?" she asked, holding her hands behind her, rocking on her heels, like a dumb kid.

His face lit up. He motioned toward the small table in the corner. "Actually I've been working on my material, do you wanna hear some of it?"

"Material?" she asked, canting her head.

"Yeah! I…I actually want to be a stand up comedian, so I've just been working on some jokes."

"That sounds so awesome!" He'd never mentioned this to her before. He talked all about his job as a clown-for-hire, when he started doing that, and so forth. Some of the odd jobs he'd held before that. But he never mentioned this aspiration of his.

Jennifer sat down across from where Arthur just sat at his table, where he flipped through a worn spiral notebook. She leaned forward, batting her eyelashes. "Wanna tell me some jokes?"

"More than anything," he let out, and they both laughed.

He looked for some time, trying to find his best bits and one-offs. She noticed what looked like some drawings and clippings, but she didn't want to pry into his personal thoughts. She looked away and patiently waited while he found what he was looking for.

He told her one about a clown–appropriate–and another about what it must be like to have kids, and he went into a bit about some of Gotham's more elite citizens. It was nothing riotously funny, but it made her laugh.

He flipped forward, toward the end of the notebook. "There's this one, I just thought of tonight.

She looked at him. "Tell me."

It was about mental illness, how people expect or want you to behave as if you don't have one.

"I don't know if that's funny."

Arthur looked up at her, crestfallen.

"I guess comedy having some truth to it is what makes it so funny," she started to explain, "but some things are so true, they're not really funny. They're just true. If that makes sense?

"He considered that. "I guess…." He still seemed disappointed that she hadn't laughed.

"Hey," she reached across and covered his hand with hers. "You made me think. Sometimes that's more important."

He smiled, finally. Looked down. She was about to say something else, when the front door of his apartment opened.

"Thank you, Sherry, I'm fine now that I'm home," Mrs. Fleck said from the doorway.

The voice of another, older-sounding woman–Sherry, seemingly–responded, "It was good to see you tonight, Doll. Hope to see you again next week!"

Jennifer heard no other talk before the front door shut. The minute the door had opened, Arthur shot out of his chair and found a shirt to put on, before going out to greet his mother. She supposed he didn't want his mother to find him half dressed with female company over. Seemed shitty to her that he couldn't just live his own life without having to worry what his mother thought, but she shrugged it off for the time being.

She stood as Arthur's mom entered the room. "Hi there, Mrs. Fleck. How are you?"

"Penny," she correct Jennifer. "I'm fine. How are you?" she asked automatically, as she retreated to her high back chair, with Arthur in tow behind her.

"Actually…I just came over to ask for Arthur's help with something."

They both looked up at Jennifer quickly.

"I…am moving some stuff in my apartment and could use a hand?"


	9. Chapter 9

Warnings: None really.

A/N: Giving the people what they want….

"What are you moving? Are you going somewhere?" he was quick to add.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said softly. "In fact, I…don't really have to move anything, really."

He looked over at her, confused.

"I mean, I have wanted to look for something, though it's probably just buried in this one box in my closet."

"Then…"

They reached her apartment door and Jennifer went to open it. "Maybe I just needed an excuse to drag you over here. Maybe you needed one to get away from your mother for a bit. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, 'kay?"

He smiled. "Okay."

They entered her apartment and she shut the door behind them.

"It's actually this closet right here," she said, pointing to the door right next to her front door. She opened it, revealing a coat closet with a shelf at the top. She yanked on a pull string and a light bulb flickered to life inside. She reached up to try and grab one of two boxes that sat on the shelf, but she was having a difficult time.

She sighed. "Actually, Art, if you could grab this for me." She pointed to the one on the right.

"Sure." He got the box down and set it on the floor.

"Thanks," she said, before sitting down on the entryway floor in front of the box. She started to dig through it. Arthur sat down on the floor across from her.

Jennifer pulled out random things–catalogs, an old pair of reading glasses, an old wallet, a roll of tape, some pens, some broken costume jewelry. She tossed it all aside, while Arthur would pick up some of these things and look them over, before maybe asking her about their significance. Paulie had also come over and started to sniff at these random items.

"Ah, here it is," she said as she pulled out a Polaroid camera. "I hope it still has film," she said she turned it over in her hands.

"What do you need that for?"

"Um…something I saw the other day that made me think of it."

Jennifer looked over at Paulie. "I think I want to test it out. Could you hold Paulie for a second?"

"Okay…sure," he said as he picked up her cat.

Paulie mewed in confusion as he was picked up. Arthur held him out to Jennifer, as if she were going to take Paulie. "Um, I mean, could you hold him in your arms, ya know, like the other day?"

"Oh, sure," he said. He held Paulie curled against him. Paulie looked up at him the same way he would look at Jennifer, and her heart melted a little bit.

"Okay, on the count of three….one, two, three." She pressed the trigger and the light went off. The camera made the usual noises, and a few seconds later the familiar square emerged from the front of it. "Let's see…." She grabbed it, and proceeded to fan it around several dozen times, trying to get it to develop faster. A few moments later, she had a picture of a smiling Arthur holding a content Paulie. She didn't know it that day, but Jennifer would hold onto that picture for the rest of her life.

Arthur let go of Paulie, who had grown bored of the two of them and went off to do something else.

Arthur peered into the box. "What are those?"

He was pointing down at some rocks and geodes that sat at the bottom of the box. She picked up one of them and admired it for a few seconds. "Oh. These. Souvenir from a camping trip to the Southwest with my grandparents, years ago…. They took me to this quartz mine…." She shook her head. "I got to hammer and stab at some rocks for like an hour, so it was fun I guess."

Arthur picked some of the rocks, turned them over in his hands. "Huh. I've never even been outside of Gotham…."

Jennifer thought about that for a second, then shrugged. "I hated the desert. I wanted to go back home to the mountains, back where things were green and alive." She shook her head again. Started to chuckle.

"What?"

"Ya know that song, 'Horse with No Name'?"

Arthur shook his head.

She pushed him lightly on the arm. "I have so much yet to teach you. Anyway, it's this song about this guy in the desert, and he's lost or something, has no water, and he's starting to lose his mind. He starts to forget his own name. That song played at one point while we were driving through the actual desert. My Grandpa loved to tease me. That song had just played, and he said, 'Ya know, that could happen to you, if you get lost out here. If you wander off the path too far, baby, you might just forget your own name.'" She laughed.

"That sounds sort of frightening, actually…."

Jennifer shook her head. "I guess it's a weird in-joke. I mean, it unnerved me a bit when he first told me that, yeah, but then the three of us just sort of laughed about it."

Arthur just nodded again.

A beat.

"…and my feet are falling asleep," she announced. She struggled to get up on her deaden feet. "Ow."

Arthur stood up quickly. "Here, let me help you." He was stronger than he appeared; he took her hands in his and pulled her up.

"Ow," she said, trying to shake some circulation back into her lower limbs. "I hate when I do that."

She looked up, to see Arthur staring down at her. "Hi," he said softly.

"Hi," she echoed. She felt her cheeks grow hot.

"I…I better see if my mom wants something…ya know."

She nodded. Sighed as she looked down, then up at him. "Yeah, I know."

They both said nothing for a few seconds. There was that headiness again. At least this time they were managing to maintain actual eye contact. Jennifer hadn't really noticed the hazel, but more green, color of his eyes. She wondered how he saw hers. Her mother always saw them as gray, like her own, but her grandmother and a few others saw them as a steely blue.

She noticed as his hands went up, hovered over her arms. She watched as they came up shakily over her shoulders. She could hear his breathing, and her own.

"I…um…." Arthur hung his head. She could see his courage faltering.

"Do it. I want you to."

He looked back up, searched her face. He bent down and pressed his lips to hers–was about to draw back–then his hands moved to wrap around her.

He was now cradling her head and pressing Jennifer to him, as the kiss got deeper, deeper…. She hung onto his arms, moved her hands to his back, dug her nails in. Somewhere in her lust-fogged brain she wondered if he would flinch, because of the bruises there, but he didn't.

She wanted the kiss to last forever, but she needed to come up for air. She drew back. They both took deep breaths. He rested his head on her shoulder, then moved to plant a kiss on her neck. Somehow, out of everything that just happened, that one action would have been enough to have make her say yes to anything he would have asked.

But no such question came. He drew back. "I need to go," he shook his head. "I have work tomorrow."

"Me too," she said, settling her head against his chest. He smelled of soap and cigarette smoke. "Where are they sending you?"

"Bank. Then this children's hospital."

She smiled up at him. "My hero," she whispered to him, as she traced a line along his jaw with her index finger. He smiled at Jennifer like she was everything good in the world.


	10. Chapter 10

Warnings: "The following contains course language and sexual situations. Viewer discretion is advised."

A/N: Boom chicka brown cow….

The next day at work was also difficult for Jennifer to get through, though more because of a giddy excitement, rather than the general nervous tension she felt the day before. At least the weekend started tomorrow, when she'd have time and room to really ponder, to act.

When she got home, shutting the door behind her, she looked around. She cleaned up her apartment a bit, put things away, organized. She dug up an old chardonnay from the back of her liquor cabinet. She wasn't a big wine person–her hard liquor suited her just fine–but somehow wine always felt like a more suitable option for any potential romantic moment. She was still downing some vodka as she did all this prepping.

It was nearing 7:30 by the time Jennifer was done, but she couldn't bring herself to go over to Arthur's apartment. She had no idea if he was home yet. She was pretty sure his mother was, which she didn't want to deal with. Some petty part of her also wanted him to come to her, to make the next move. A reasonable part of her wondered if he even would, though. As usual, her petty side was winning, but she grew frustrated, restless, as the night wore on. Jennifer sighed in aggravation.

Nearly half an hour later she was in her bedroom, refolding her spare blankets for the fortieth time. She had actually bought steaks, but she was too anxious to even cook them. Somehow the most optimistic and pessimistic parts of her agreed that if this night went really well or really horribly, they'd be forgotten anyway.

She heard loud, insistent knocking at her door. "What the hell?" she said out loud as she left her bedroom and approached her front door.

Jennifer opened it to reveal Arthur, dressed in his button up, yellow vest, and patched trousers from his work costume. His make-up was still on, but there was no wig in sight.

Before she could say anything, he barged into her apartment, and slammed the door behind him with his foot, before taking her in his arms, lips suddenly on hers.

Well, shit. Wish granted.

She was going under again. He pushed her against the wall of her entryway. Tongues were starting to get involved. She lifted one of her jean-clad legs up and he eagerly took the cue–grasping both of her legs and lifting her up off the ground, and she followed suit and wrapped them around him.

He moved to her neck and she knew she was done for. "Bedroom?" she rasped into his ear. He nodded before biting down on her earlobe.

"Shit. Promise to do that again when we're actually fucking."

He drew back, smiled. A shit-eating grin through the made-up smile in red.

This was just weird. Well, not for Jennifer. This crazy shit was right up her alley, but it didn't seem like Arthur's MO.

Maybe. The quiet ones had a way of being the most fucked up ones, underneath.

He lead her into her bedroom. Clothes were quickly shed. She tried to take the lead, but he wasn't having any of that. The only time he hesitated, right before the first time, she mentioned being on the pill, and any remaining inhibitions were seemingly thrown out the window.

So many others were sloppy, lazy. Or gave too much. The aggressiveness, the insistence, at least a first, surprised her, but she got used to it. Found she liked it. As the night wore on, the gentleness she was expecting came through, and she found she liked that too.

They finally fell asleep at some point, because Jennifer woke up the next morning, sore and a little confused. Not unusual for a Saturday morning.

Now, the naked guy sitting on the side of her bed, with a surprising amount of clown make-up still on his face, smoking a cigarette, was a little unusual.

"Morning," she croaked out.

Arthur turned to her and smiled. "Hey." Took a drag. Admired her like she was the Mona Lisa. "How are you?"

"Good. Very good. Thanks to a certain someone."

Arthur smiled as he looked out the window. "Did you have fun with him?"

She started to laugh. "Well, screwing a guy in clown make-up might only by the fourth kinkiest thing I've done in my life."

Arthur actually looked a little disappointed.

"Screwing him three times in one night might just top the list, though."

He smiled–not quite the smug grin from last night, but something more humble, bashful, more Arthur.

He turned and reached over and palmed her neck, and rubbed his thumb over the tender flesh there. She closed her eyes and moaned. He sensed her weak spot early and used it to his advantage; she had no complaints.

They stayed together in comfortable silence for a while. Arthur lit another cigarette. Jennifer was grateful she had remembered to dig up some of her parents' old ashtrays and bring one of them into her bedroom for him to use.

She felt herself starting to get restless. She gently knocked her leg against Arthur. "I'm up for another round, or three, if you don't have to go anywhere today."

She rubbed her eyes and yawned away some of the grogginess. "You don't have to work today, do you?"

Arthur didn't answer.

"Art?"

Still nothing.

"Arthur, is something wrong?"

He turned to her, smiled reassuringly while he shook his head. She eyed him suspiciously. Suddenly, her mind put together certain puzzle pieces–his coming home in costume, the sudden confidence and brazenness, not having to work–

"Oh shit," she sat up, "did you rage quit yesterday?"

"What?"

"Did you tell Hoyt to fuck off?"

"I–" Arthur squirmed, was clearly uncomfortable. She could see it, the dreaded laugh bubbling to the surface. "Um–ha, HA–no, I–not exactly–" The laughter started in earnest, and Jennifer wanted to kick herself.

"Arthur, it's fine. I'm here, baby. It's okay," she cooed, while rubbing his back gently.

Some more laughter clawed its way through his chest, escaped from his mouth. His hand came up and clamped over his mouth, trying to hold it back.

"Hey, come here," she said as she laid back in bed, pulling him down with her. It was a bit awkward at first, but upon realizing what she was doing, he was quick to wrap himself around her, like Jennifer was the lifesaver that would keep him from drowning. They stayed entwined in that bed for some time, as she continued to lightly move her fingers through his hair and rub his back until they both fell asleep.

….

The next time Jennifer regained consciousness, Arthur wasn't in the room. She panicked a bit, considering he wasn't in the best of mental states when they'd fallen asleep. "Art? Arthur?" she called out. Didn't get a response.

She listened carefully; she could hear music coming from her living room–Foreigner. _Waiting on A Girl Like You_. Jennifer groaned. Real subtle, Fleck.

She rolled out of bed. She found her seven-year-old terrycloth robe and put it on, before heading out of her bedroom. The smell of eggs cooking hit her. She entered her kitchen to see Arthur there, frying up some up on her stove top.

"Um, hey?"

He turned around and smiled at her. She glanced at the wall clock in her living room: 12:38. He must have gone home at some point to freshen up, because he was now in his regular clothes–brown pull-over and pants–and the make-up was gone from his face.

"Good morning, again," he said before taking her in his arms. They shared a hearty kiss before he turned his attention back to the eggs.

She sidled up next to him at the stove top. Held her hands behind her back as she peered over at what he was making. "Smells good."

"Thank you," he said, as he turned the eggs over. How did he know she liked them over easy?

Jennifer sat down at one of her pub chairs. She hesitated, but eventually asked, "How are you doing, really?"

"Good…very good," he said as he smirked at her, before picking up her frying pan and letting the eggs slide out into two waiting plates, which already held buttered slices of toast.

She rolled her eyes. Her cheeks felt hot again. "I'm not talking about that. I mean…. What happened yesterday? Are you okay?" She didn't want to press this issue, but she was now certain Arthur was no longer employed and it was not his idea, and she was worried.

He set one of the plates in front of her, along with a fork. "I'm fine," he said quietly.

Jennifer pursed her lips. "Do you want to talk about it at all?"

The sudden hiss of the hot frying pan being put under tepid tap water made her jump.

"No."

She nodded, took a deep breath. "Okay."

He joined her at the kitchen counter and they proceeded to eat the breakfast he'd made. He'd even poured two glasses of her screwdriver orange juice–sans vodka. She scrunched her face at the tart taste of it and lack of alcohol.

He cleared away the dishes once they were done and proceeded to clean up. This also felt weird. She wasn't used to being taken care of in any real fashion. She had been on her own for so many years now. There was the year or so when her grandmother was with her, but all attention and care has been on her, as she slowly died. Jennifer didn't even have the energy or time to take care of herself back then.

This…care. She found she was liking this, too.

"Hey there. What are you thinking about?" Arthur said, breaking through her thoughts. She hadn't noticed him step up to her. He ran his fingers up and down her back.

She turned. Smiled at him. "Not anything that can be said aloud in mixed company."

He moved even closer to her. "Whisper it to me then."

Jennifer rolled her eyes as she looked away, still smiling. She got off the pub chair, and the next thing she knew Arthur had one hand on her back and the other holding her right hand, as he lead her into dancing in her living room. By this time her copy of Foreigner's _4_ had reached _Girl on the Moon_. Kind of a random song to dance to like they were, but somehow perfect in that moment. She giggled like a girl half her age.

The song faded out. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he moved his around her waist.

"How about…round four?" he suggested.

Jennifer nodded. "Yes, please."


	11. Chapter 11

Warnings: Not really any.

A/N: I just wanted to write some fluff, mmkay? Much of the next chapter is already written, btw, and should be up within a day or so.

Jennifer stood in her kitchen later that same day, watching two steaks slowly sear to a crisp in her frying pan. She poked at them a few times. Sighed. Cooking-good cooking-required a patience she never really had, but she was trying tonight. Arthur was just so skin and bones, and she was afraid their activities over the last 24 hours had worn him down even more, despite his claims to the contrary. If she had brought him home, tsk-tsk-ing aunts and cousins would have been mortified that she hadn't fattened him up yet.

She stopped herself. Home. That place that felt so distant, physically and emotionally, from her. Bringing Arthur home... To that place she wasn't even sure even qualified as "home" anymore. Nancy once told her home could just be the people around you, even a single person. Jennifer smiled to herself involuntarily, then wanted to kick herself, because it didn't make sense. It was still too early, she chided herself. They'd known each other, what, a month or two? In the Biblical sense? About a day.

Sometimes you just know. Something else Nancy said on occasion. But how could she truly know when she had no real previous situation to compare this to?

Jennifer broke out of her thoughts when her front door swung open. "Honey, I'm home!"

She chuckled. She knew with his tone and inflection he was referencing _I Love Lucy_, but God damn-his timing. "In here, still cooking..."

Arthur had gone over to tend to his mother; he had been gone about an hour or so. She wondered what-if anything-he had told her. Surely she noticed his absence? Then again, it was Penny Fleck...

He came into the kitchen. He imitated what Jennifer did earlier that day, by holding his hands behind him and leaning over to smell what was cooking on the stove. "Smells good."

She wondered if that imitation was some form of teasing, or came from his social awkwardness. She could relate to the latter. Jennifer could remember being younger and after a day with her cousins or her friends, she found she had picked up their mannerisms and common sayings. She hadn't known how to be herself. Still didn't at times.

"Thanks," she said. After the meat had browned all around to what seemed like an acceptable color, she transferred the pan to her stove. "They should be done...at some point." She glanced over at her smoke detector and breathed a sigh of relief that it hadn't gone off yet.

Arthur had been watching her carefully. Once Jennifer seemed to be done with the food, at least for the time being, he brought he into his arms. She said nothing, just melded to him. He planted a kiss on her forehead, and she smiled into his neck.

For some uncounted moments they were oblivious to everything else but each other. The muffled music from the down the hall. The screaming baby one floor down. Paulie's insistent mews and pawing at their feet. The smoke coming from her stove...

And there was her smoke detector.

"Shit," she hissed, quickly detaching herself from Arthur and grabbing a nearby potholder. "Can you open the windows?"

"Yeah, sure," he head, before rushing over to open her kitchen window first.

Within a few minutes they were able to salvage dinner and clear the smoke our of her apartment. The steaks were largely fine; if anything, the smoke had inadvertently given them a good flavor. Maybe she was better at this than she thought.

He seemed to enjoy the meat, as well as the vegetables she'd nuked in her microwave to accompany them. She was getting a little annoyed after he slipped the fifth scrap of steak to Paulie, though. She lightly kicked his leg under her round dining table they both sat at. "Hey, quit doing that. Paulie is fat enough. You need to eat."

Arthur quickly looked up at her. She instantly felt bad. Jennifer didn't mean it to sound like some comment on his looks or more indirectly on how he didn't really have the money to feed himself properly, particularly now.

"I mean...you'll need the energy, if we keep doing what we're doing."

He smiled, amused. "And what's that exactly?" he asked as he leaned forward, arms crossed on her table.

She rolled her eyes and held back a smirk of her own. "Well, screwing each other's brains out, obviously."

He smiled wider. She thought maybe he'd laugh, but he didn't. "You probably have a point," he conceded, as he nodded slightly. He sliced off a good piece of the steak and popped it into his mouth.

...

She let him bring over some of his own records the next day. Dean Martin, Bing Crosby, Andy Williams, Etta James. Other than Etta, Jennifer didn't have this stuff in her rotation. It was hard not to think of Mom and Pops and Grams and Gramps when these sweet voices touched her ears. But that Sunday morning in bed they got to talking about their interests more and she had encouraged him to share more of what he loved. As he swayed her around to _Sunday Kind of Love_-again, appropriate-she found the old associations in her head were starting to be erased, though, and written over by new, more pleasant ones.

It was now her turn, though. Jennifer slipped the Ramones'_ Pleasant Dreams_ out of its sleeve, flipped it over in her hands a few times. She placed it carefully down on her turntable. She picked up the needle and let it drop a few times until she found roughly the start of her favorite track, _The KKK Took My Baby Away_.

As Johnny's guitar and Tommy's drums shook her walls, she turned back to Arthur. "My turn," she smiled as she pointedly raised her eyebrows. She held out her hands to him.

He was laughing-naturally, comfortably. "I mean-how do you even dance to it?" He took her hands, let her pull him up off her couch.

Jennifer shrugged. "Pretty much just thrash around, like so," she said as she moved around her shoulders, rocked her head, jumped up and down, then switched into more specific moves she had accumulated from years of watching _American Band Stand_ with her family and then by herself. Arthur watched her closely. He recognized many of her moves and did them himself even better.

"See, you're a natural!" she near-shouted over the music.

"I thought it would be...rougher than this," he also semi-shouted.

The song cut out and they both stopped dead in their tracks, as if they were both suddenly frozen. They started to crack up at themselves.

She shook her head. "I don't bang around in a mosh pit or try to break skulls with other punks when I go to the concerts and such...usually, anyway."

"That's a relief. Your skull is too beautiful to be broken."

She canted her head at that. "Thanks?"

"I mean, everything about you is. Beautiful, I mean."

A big smile spread over her face. She looked down. "You trying to get me in bed again Fleck?"

He slowly smiled himself. "Maybe."

She moved closer to him. "Well...mission accomplished."


	12. Chapter 12

Warnings: Some adult talk, language

A/N: None.

Jennifer dragged herself reluctantly into work that Monday morning. It was difficult to have to acknowledge that the weekend was over. She couldn't remember the last time she enjoyed a weekend more, or spent more of a weekend in bed when she wasn't sick. Coincidence, for sure.

Her boss was due to come back on that Monday, however, and she was naturally looking forward to seeing him like a hole in the head. Jennifer had a feeling he would be even less thrilled at coming back to work, and would thus find something to nitpick and demean her over.

"Ms. Cullen, can you come to my office for a bit?" he said as he passed by her desk not even half hour after she got there.

She hated when she was right.

She entered Stanford's office with what she thought was enough mental and emotional preparation for whatever he shot at her, but somehow he always ended up being more devastating than she could expect. And this time he had some good ammunition: the latest system for managing the auto accident cases was flawed–granted, he had conceived of it initially–but she had implemented it in her own way that she felt worked, but he had pointed out its flaws and she had to admit he was right about a few of them. Of course, he took full advantage of this opportunity to make her feel like an idiot. All she could do was smile pleasantly.

Jennifer wanted more than anything to just go home at 5, but she was stuck cleaning up the mess for an additional two or three hours, which she had suspected would be the case anyway. She had told Arthur not to wait up for her because of this suspicion.

By the time she finally left, she had a lovely splitting headache as a reward for her efforts.

….

The weekend had been euphoric to Arthur. He felt it still even as he emptied his locker and made his exit from Ha Ha's that Monday morning. All his former co-workers noticed something was different, but only made crude remarks as he made his way out:

"Jeeze, wonder if Arthur got laid over the weekend or something?"

"Arthur?! C'mon."

Some part of him wanted to go back and sort of defend her honor, or his ego, by stating he had, in fact, gotten laid, multiple times, by the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. But again, Jennifer was his little secret, one he still guarded jealously.

She also wasn't entirely the reason for the spring in his step after that weekend.

His mother had mentioned Jennifer, but in disinterested passing. Referred to her as that "neighbor girl." Penny had, in fact, not really noticed his absence. But then, he hadn't told her he has been fired, either, and working randomly, or just running errands, over the weekend were fairly common occurrences for Arthur.

No one else really knew about Jennifer. Not that he had a whole lot of people to tell. He sometimes talked to their other neighbor, Sophie. Someone he had a bit of a crush on at one point. She would ask about his mother and they'd make other, brief small talk when they'd travel the building's elevator together or meet at the caged mailboxes.

"You seem happy about something…or somebody," she said that Sunday around noon when he went to check the mail. He'd actually forgotten the day before, the first time in a long time, to check for any letters for his mother.

"Happy…." That nickname that he hated, that always seemed ironic. Now suddenly didn't.

He just turned to her and smiled a wry smile before miming puling a zipper over his mouth, turning a lock, then throwing away the key.

Sophie smiled as she shook her head. "Good for you, Arthur," she chuckled.

….

Arthur had left his house that Monday at the usual time. He still didn't want to reveal his employment situation to his mother. It would just cause her to worry, maybe even have a panic attack. He didn't want to put her through that, especially if there was something he could do to rectify the situation before he'd even have to.

After clearing out of Ha Ha's, he'd gone directly over to their competitor in Gotham, Laughing Stock, and inquired about any openings.

"Arthur Fleck…. Hey, aren't you the guy who brought a .38 to the kid's hospital last week?"

Damn, word spread fast.

He'd gone to a few other general talent agencies, but was either given the cold shoulder or told there was (supposedly) no openings.

He bought a stack of newspapers. He scanned through their Help Wanted sections after planting himself in a booth at a greasy-spoon diner near his apartment.

"Ya know, we do serve other stuff besides water…." Arthur looked up to see a tight-lipped, narrow-eyed waitress holding a coffee pot in one hand while the other was pressed fisted against her hip.

"Um, coffee, please?"

Waitress Tight-Lips produced a coffee cup and poured some of the dark liquid into it. "Here. Hope you didn't want decaf," she said as she already started walking away.

"Thanks…" he said while watching her walk away from him. The coffee wasn't as bad as might have been expected, but Arthur took his time drinking it.

Later Arthur found his way to Pogo's, his favorite comedy club in the city. They had open mic nights Mondays and Thursdays, granted there was enough interest. Tonight, like many nights before, he had gone to study the acts of other wannabe comedians, to see what worked and what didn't.

Arthur was half paying attention. Partly because he had done this so many times now that he felt restless sitting there for the millionth time, listening to somebody who wasn't him. He wanted to try his hand at this, and felt like this Thursday would be a good day to try.

Jennifer was the other reason he wasn't really paying attention. He hoped she didn't have to work as late as she'd predicted, mostly out of concern for her well-being, but also somewhat out of a selfish need to have her at home when he returned there later.

Memories of the weekend also floated through his mind. Caused him to feel tight; made him wonder whether he shouldn't dump the glass of ice water on the table into his lap before he got up to leave. Put a huge grin on his face even when no one was up on stage dispensing jokes of questionable quality.

He also thought vaguely of the future. He looked down at his notebook. Her name was written several times on the right page:

Jennifer Cullen

Jennifer Cullen

Jennifer Cullen, etc.

He picked up his pen. He crossed out the last Cullen and wrote "Fleck" next to it. Considered it for a few moments.

Jennifer Fleck. Hmm.

He hated his last name–the sound, look, and feel of it. But it was one of the few things he had to give to her, especially in light of his current employment situation. He wondered, worried, whether she would gladly take it, begrudgingly accept it, or just refuse it.

A part of him wanted to kick himself. It was much too early to be thinking of any of this. How long had they even known each other? What was an acceptable amount of time before someone started thinking of such things? Was a month or two too soon? It felt sort of soon, but then he could recall watching this couple on the bus once. They were dressed nicely. The girl held a single sunflower in her lap. They mentioned something about traveling to the courthouse.

"How long you been together?" someone asked.

"Three weeks!" the girl said with glee.

"Sometimes, you just know," the guy said.

….

It was around 9 PM when Arthur got home.

No letter for mom. What else was new.

He traveled upstairs to their floor. He stepped up to her door. Listened. It was strangely silent; he expected the TV to be on or something. He started to worry.

Arthur reached up and felt the top of the door frame. Found the spare key she kept there half hidden in a crack. He slipped it out and used it to open the door.

Her apartment was dark, the only illumination being some slivers of moonlight that fell through some of the windows and past their heavy curtains.

"Jenny? Jennifer?" he called out. Then, more quietly: "Paulie?" But nothing.

"Jenn–" he jumped a bit when he noticed movement on the couch that he wasn't expecting.

"What?" she asked in a pained voice.

He rushed over, concerned. "What are doing on the couch? In a dark apartment?" he asked as he knelt down next to her.

Jennifer groaned into the velour of her couch. "Just…. Funny. My skull feels like someone's shoved a spear through it."

"What?"

"I–not–I just have a migraine," she breathed. "Had a bad day."

"I'm so sorry," he said, and went to stroke her hair, which caused her to flinch.

"Please, just–I kind of just want to be alone right now."

Arthur drew back.

"Okay."

He stood up slowly, a little shakily. "You sure you don't need anything?" he asked as gently as possible.

"No, I'm okay. Relatively speaking."

"You sure?"

She sighed. "Yes."

Arthur just nodded before leaving her apartment. He was disappointed, if not a little hurt, by this. Her pushing him away. He walked into his own apartment with a sour mood. He would have done anything to make her feel better. Admittedly…a small, selfish part of him sort of hoped 'anything' would include sex, but he had no idea really if that helped with such things as migraines. A bigger part of him would have stayed up all night tending to her and trying to get her to feel better however he could.

He had also wanted to tell her about his day, share all his efforts, get her take on things. Hear her reassurances that everything would be okay. Hers was a big silence when he couldn't talk to her.

Penny was asleep in her chair again. He didn't wake her up right away. He looked over at his phone and answering machine. There was a message.

He turned the volume down and pressed play. It was Debra Kane. She wanted to see him for an impromptu meeting as soon as possible–tomorrow, if he could manage it.

Well, what the fuck else did he have to do.


	13. Chapter 13

Warnings: Discussion of medication & treatment; course language; cat

A/N: So here's that sweet Arthur & Paulie interaction you've all been waiting for I'm sure…. Also, another chapter should be posted right after this one, because I have no sense of length….

Jennifer felt like shit.

She had a litany of reasons, starting with the obvious: The migraine had largely mellowed out, but it felt as if some imprint of it was still tracked across her gray matter. She made a mental note to take some aspirin after brewing up some coffee.

Her back was starting to ache, so there was also that. Maybe these snoozefests on the couch were becoming a bad idea as she was starting her thirties in earnest….

The damn time change recently meant that sunlight was shinning through one of her windows and directly into her eyes, even though it was only 6 AM. She groaned out loud. Why couldn't it be nice and dark most of the day?

Jennifer had also, relatively speaking, slept in longer than she should have. Which meant she would only have so much time to make herself look presentable before catching her train. But then, after yesterday, the amount of fucks she had to give toward making a good presentation at work were damn near close to zero.

The biggest thing, though, that weighed on her so hard it felt like she was going to suffocate, was how empty her apartment felt, and exactly who was to blame for that.

She quickly showered and got dressed. Swiped some light make-up across her face so she didn't look quite so dead. Swallowed more than the recommended dosage of Tylenol along with a lukewarm cup of coffee.

She still had about about an hour before the train, but she had a stop to make first.

Jennifer knocked at his door, praying he was there, that it wouldn't wake his mother, that he'd listen to her.

After what felt like an eternity, his front door creaked open, then opened wider when he saw it was her. When he didn't say anything at first, she started in: "Look, I am a Class A Bitch, especially when I…when I feel like shit and things are shit. I push people away when I feel like shit, when I feel weak…." She looked away briefly, laughed bitterly. "And after my boss made me feel like a total moron yesterday I guess I felt all of two inches tall, on top of physically feeling ill. I just wasn't up for being a couple…. I, I don't know how to let–"

He grasped her hand and pulled her inside. Shut his door before enveloping her in a hug. Jennifer hugged him back.

"Just keep talking to me," he spoke into her hair. It took her a few seconds to realize he was speaking generally.

She nodded. "Okay," she whispered. She drew back. "Boy do you have the right woman for that."

Arthur grinned at her, then the grin faded a bit. "You have to work, huh?"

Jennifer sighed. "Yeah. I'm going to try and make it home at a reasonable hour tonight. Don't think I have enough whiskey to survive another almost-all-nighter like last night."

That Laugh spilled out of his mouth briefly before he could stop it. Luckily it didn't catch him in a strangle hold this time. He coughed, then took a deep breath. "I hope you don't have to leave work late, either."

"Eh, fingers crossed."

He was looking at her again, with that tender look that made her insides turn to jelly.

"Jennifer, um, would you…."

"…would I what?"

"Would you–would you come watch me this Thursday when I perform at Pogo's?"

She smiled widely. "Oh my God–you're gonna do it! Their open mic night, right?"

"Ye-yeah! I figured it's time I finally give it a shot."

"Fuck yeah, of course I'll be there! I wouldn't miss it for anything."

God, he looked so proud and happy in that moment, she thought.

She glanced toward his door. "Hey, um, I'll try to call from the office later today. Maybe let you know how things are going and when you can expect me home?"

"That would be nice," he smiled. "Is there something I could do while you're gone?"

"Yeah, actually, I was gonna ask, if you're free around 4:30 or 5, if you could go over and feed Paulie? Don't think he was too happy about having to settle for his dry food last night."

"Of course." He paused, before pulling her back into a hug. Kissed her temple. She hugged him back again, and in running her hand up and down his back it struck her just how thin he was. Had he lost weight even just in the last 24 hours or so?

Jennifer wanted to stay, but with a peak at her wrist watch she knew she had to leave as soon as possible.

Somehow they both moved into a kiss and she sighed internally; she was going to be late at this rate.

"Okay, okay, I really gotta go," she said as she tried to extricate herself from Arthur's embrace and his apartment.

"Sorry, I just…."

"I know," she smiled. "See you tonight."

….

Arthur wasn't sure whether to get off the bus at his usual spot. It seemed pointless, when he didn't have to stop at the pharmacy on the way home.

No more drugs. It was strange to think about.

It was bad news. Maybe. Of course, he was on all the drugs for a reason, but the longer he had been on them the more it felt like they weren't even there.

Not entirely, some of the side effects were there, though not as bad as he feared they'd be when he had first been prescribed many of them.

Still, he wondered faintly whether it wouldn't possibly be some sort of blessing to be rid of them. They were like half a dozen metal balls chained to his feet, constantly following him around, dragging him down, never to be forgotten. Take this one with water, these with a meal, but this one on an empty stomach. So on.

He was afraid what he might become without them, but he also didn't want to think of what he had become because of them.

Arthur gave exactly one moment to the thought that he'd never see his social worker Debra Kane again.

Fuck her, he thought. And he went on with his day.

….

Arthur didn't want to bother to pretend that he was out working that Tuesday. He bought some more papers and brought them home after his late morning session with Kane.

"Happy, is that you? What are you doing home?"

Arthur bristled at the question. "Just–just an early day today Mom."

By 4 PM, he was feeling discouraged, restless. It was a little early, but he figured paying Paulie a visit might be a good distraction.

Arthur unlocked Jennifer's door and was a little surprised to find Paulie sitting directly before him. Almost as if he was expecting him.

"Mroww?"

"Uh, hi. I'm here to feed you."

Paulie perked up; almost as if he could understand Arthur. Arthur found it amusing.

He'd watched Jennifer feed Paulie before, so he knew where to go to retrieve the cat's his wet food and her can opener. Trying to navigate his way around her kitchen while Paulie was rubbing against his legs was another matter.

As soon as the cat's food was plopped into his dish, though, Arthur might as well have not even been standing there, as far as Paulie was concerned. Not that he wasn't used to feeling that way. "Okay then…."

After cleaning up, Arthur scanned her apartment. He looked for something he could help with or make better since he was there with nothing to do while she was at work. But there wasn't really anything; her apartment was neat, well-kept.

He ambled over to her record collection. Flipped through some of her albums. He looked down at the bottom shelf of the bookcase next to them. He observed some random books–a dictionary, a couple of cookbooks, some mystery novels.

A photo album.

He debated with himself. He probably shouldn't look at it. It was so many memories and moments and feelings of hers, but that was also precisely why he wanted to look at it. Not as personal as a diary or journal, arguably, but still.

He slipped the album from its place on her bookshelf and brought it over with him to her couch. He opened it to the first page. There was a wedding photo that took up that first page. It appeared old…. Arthur struggled to gauge its era. 1920s? Maybe even earlier. It was one of those black and white photos that had been colorized–maybe even by Jennifer herself. It struck him as eerie, but the woman could have been a dead ringer for Jennifer.

He laughed to himself. Maybe she was really a vampire or something.

He turned the plastic-covered pages to find family group shots, candid snapshots, shots of birthday cake and barbecues, more wedding photos, baby pictures. He was pretty sure one of the babies was Jennifer, but couldn't be sure. He did recognize her in a young, awkward girl who didn't really smile and who grew up as the pages progressed. He smiled at seeing these other, earlier versions of her.

He also saw whom he was sure were her parents. The woman had her same coloring and build. Something about the man's features were similar to Jennifer's. They were standing or sitting close to her in many of the photos. She seemed to be most unhappy in the photos with them.

He focused on her father. He supposed that's the person he should ask the question of first, to get his approval, do it the proper way. He moved his fingers over one photo of the three of them and debated again. He decided; as long as he was careful, it should be okay. He slowly peeled the plastic covering back and carefully lifted the photo from the sticky cardboard. He turned it over. He recognized Jennifer's handwriting:

Mom - Dad

Me

He replaced the photo, disappointed. Well, he supposed that's what she would call them. Not sure why he expected something else. Maybe because he didn't know his father, and he often didn't think of Penny as his mother. She was his charge, his burden, he hated to say. He even found himself sometimes calling her Penny, much to her chagrin. But he needed to know this man's name, how to find him. But how?

He quickly flipped through all the pages with his thumb. But he didn't see any writing, except for the last page, which featured what looked like a recent photo of Jennifer and her grandmother, her older doppelgänger. In pencil on the sticky page at the bottom, Jennifer had wrote:

Love you

My hero

He stared at that for a few seconds. Thought back to the time she had called him that. He felt a variety of emotions that made him turn back to the first pages of the album.

Everyone was dressed simply. Many wore hard looks. Stood against old houses, aging businesses, and beat up cars, all set against a backdrop of trees, rolling plains, and green hills. They were what he once heard referred to as "salt of the earth" people. Endearing. So different from what he had–or didn't have–while growing up. Arthur felt a touch of envy towards Jennifer in that moment.

Shit. He suddenly realized that all this historical stalking of his was probably making him miss her phone call. He had been listening carefully all afternoon but it hadn't come yet. He left the photo album on her coffee table without thinking and quickly left her apartment, barely remembering to lock the door on the way out.

As it so happened, about ten minutes after he'd returned to his own place, the phone rang.

He picked it up after the first ring.

"Oh, hey," she said over the line. "How ya doin'?"

"I'm fine…okay. Great! How are you?"

She laughed softly. "It's…life. Is what it is. Listen, I should be leaving within an hour, so granted I make the 5:42 train, I should be home around 6."

"5:42…" he echoed. "I can meet you at the train and walk you home."

"You don't have to do that."

"It's dark out…. I'd worry about you walking home alone." Reading so many papers lately had filled Arthur's head with so many unnerving stories, particularly involving young women.

"I can take care of myself–" She stopped herself. This couple thing was not coming naturally, as much Jennifer wanted it to. "Please meet me at the Barker Street Station around 6? If you can."

"I'll be there."


	14. Chapter 14

Warnings: Some adult-y stuff at the end I guess?

A/N: So the next chapter or two after this is going to be a little nuts. Am a little anxious but also looking forward to writing it/them. So stay tuned. Same Bat Time, same Bat Channel.

The conductor's voice came over the intercom system, announcing her stop as the next one. Jennifer took a deep breath, before checking if she had all her things with her. She didn't get up until the train actually stopped; she didn't want to have to grab, or really touch, anything on the train in order to steady herself while it was still moving. After several years of living, working, and commuting in Gotham, she had seen enough things to make her never really want to touch anything outside of her apartment.

The train slowed, and as soon it stopped, she shot up, clutching her things as she exited the train car.

She was about to rush up the stairs to the main level, when it dawned on her that Arthur was here somewhere, waiting for her.

Jennifer looked around. She spotted him sitting on a bench facing the train cars, smoking a cigarette. The hood of his camel-beige jacket was pulled up and over his head, which she found a little odd.

She sat directly next to him, looking straight in front of her as she said, "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, Mr. Phelps…." She held out the notebook she used at work to write down important information and reminders.

He looked over at Jennifer like she was a little crazy, though he was also smiling while doing it. "Huh?!"

She laughed, shook her head. "Just feels like we're having some clandestine meeting or something." She reached over and tugged on his hood for emphasis.

He stopped smiling. "Oh. Was just…cold."

Jennifer nodded.

"I don't know about you, but I could use a big fat burger after today," she told him. "My treat," she added.

He took a drag, a smile forming around his cigarette. "I think I could, too." He flicked his cigarette away and stood up. Offered Jennifer his hand. She smirked as she looked at it, before taking it in her own.

They emerged from the train station. It was definitely cold, and dark, outside. Though she noticed that once they reached street level, Arthur quickly pushed down his hood.

A questioned formed in her mind, but it seemed to be answered when she observed him looking around a lot, stopping her when she was about to cross the street at the wrong time or step into a bad crack or puddle, casting wary glances at any scrupulous looking characters that came anywhere near her. At one point, after she turned a corner, she was walking closest to the street, and Arthur stopped her, guided her walking so she moved over and he was standing between her and the street instead.

A small thing, but she couldn't remember the last time a man had done that for her, even back home. Arthur was really living up to the spirit of his historical namesake tonight.

They stopped at a hole-in-the-wall burger joint close to their apartment building. They sat a table in the corner and ordered their cheese burgers. Jennifer thought of ordering a beer–the only alcohol this place would have–but some some shred of decency she held onto prompted her to just order a Coke instead.

"How was your day?" she asked him. Always a bit of a loaded question, when asked of any one out of work like Arthur was, but she felt like she needed to focus on him, and it was the most obvious question to ask.

Arthur just shrugged in response.

Well, this was conversation was going well.

"…Anything happen?"

Arthur turned the glass of Coca Cola in his hands. "Saw Debra Kane today."

"Your social worker? Why? I thought you didn't have to see her for another couple of weeks."

Arthur sighed. Just kept looking at his soda.

Jennifer looked away, then back at him. "Ya know, the whole…talking thing. It is a two way street in a relationship."

Arthur gave a small nod, while setting his jaw. He sat up straighter in his seat. "I guess…funding is being cut to a bunch of city services. So I'm not going to see her anymore."

"Oh." She wasn't sure what to say to that. "So today was your last meeting?"

Arthur nodded, pursed his lips. "Also, since there's no more money, I guess it means no more drugs."

"Drugs? Your medication?" She was aware of them–sort of. The assortment of pills Arthur took. He had told her about then. She'd even seen him take some of them. She hadn't pushed on this topic, demanded to know exactly what he was on or anything like that. It was his business. He was handling it. But this news was a little unsettling.

"Yeah," Arthur ran his hand over his face. "Not sure sure what I'm supposed to do about it." There was a small, somewhat nervous laugh. The Laugh didn't make an appearance, though she thought it would.

Jennifer considered the problem for a moment. "There isn't somewhere else you can go to get them? Some other state or city program?"

"No." He took a swig of his Coke and she shifted in her seat. What a shit thing to happen when he was already out of work and, well, poor as a church mouse. Jennifer had faith in Arthur, that he'd continue to do what he had to and look for work so he could support himself and his mother, but she was also naturally a major cynic and a bit of a nihilist. She had her doubts, just because the world as a whole was what it was. She was suddenly very worried for him.

"Listen, if you…." She was about to offer to pay for at least some of his meds. She stopped short because, for one, it occurred to her that without anyone to even prescribe them, the meds probably couldn't be gotten anyway. For another, she wasn't sure if Arthur's pride would be hurt and he'd possibly feel affronted at her offering such assistance. His girlfriend was already footing the bill for dinner and such.

Jennifer covered his hand with hers. "If you need anything, I'm here, you know that, right?"

That seemed like a safe, generic compromise.

He smiled warmly, if a little weakly. "I know," he said quietly to her.

A portly man wearing a stained apron approached their table with two food baskets in hand. "Here ya go. Sorry it took a bit to get out here, don't have anyone else workin' with me tonight."

"Don't worry about it," Jennifer told him, as he placed the baskets on their table. They both thanked him before starting to dig in.

….

They spent the rest of the evening trying to focus on other things, trying to get each other to laugh. They were both in a fairly happy, lighter mood by the time they walked through the door of her apartment.

Paulie was there again. Awaiting their arrival.

"How–how does he know when we're coming home?" Arthur asked.

Jennifer hummed. "Mmm, don't know. His weird cat senses I guess," she said as she shed her blazer and thew it over a chair. She switched on her television and headed for her liquor cabinet. She was in the process of making a Tom Collins when Arthur approached her.

"Hi," he said softly.

She looked at him and smiled. "Hi…." Jennifer looked back down at her drink. As she was working on it, she felt his fingers trace their way up and down her back. She felt her breathing quicken.

She turned, about to head to her fridge for the ice and lemon juice, but someone was standing in her way.

"I've missed you," he said softly, as he brushed his fingers over her arms.

Jennifer squeezed the glass in her hands. "I've missed you, too," she breathed, as she looked into his eyes, forgetting herself in them, in the moment.

He took the glass from her hands, set it down on top of the liquor cabinet, before enveloping her in a hug. At first, he rested his forehead on hers, and they both shut their eyes for a few moments.

"I've missed you a lot," he said, as one hand moved down to her ass, where a good squeeze had her pressing into him, and whatever that was in his pants, while the other moved to the front, where he squeezed one of her breasts through her clothing.

She giggled a bit. Kissed him on the lips, then along the jaw. "Why don't you show me just how much?" she whispered into his ear.

To her brief disappointment and then surprise, he pulled away from her, before he scooped her up in his arms and carried her, bridal-style, into her bedroom. The drink she had been making left forgotten. The photo album on the coffee table left unnoticed, for the time being.


	15. Chapter 15

Warnings: Language, self-hate talk sorta?, no cat

A/N: I felt I'd be remiss if I didn't update this fic on Arthur Fleck's b-day.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered under her breath.

Jennifer scowled at the television screen in front of her. She grasped the cup of coffee in her hand, soaking in its warmth, and sighed.

Thomas Wayne was such a twat.

"What're ya watchin' there?" Karen, one of her co-workers, asked as she entered the break room at their office.

"Good Morning Gotham. They're talking about those subway murders from last week. Of course, the eminent Thomas Wayne parlayed mourning his workers into a slight against anyone who didn't bully and steal their way to the top like he did."

"Oooh, don't say anything critical of one of our board of directors. What if Stanford heard you?"

Jennifer guffawed. "Stanford doesn't care if it doesn't affect his big fat, fragile ego."

Karen tipped her head at that. "True." She poured herself a cup of coffee, then turned and smiled slyly at Jennifer. "So, you look like you've been getting laid."

Jennifer's eyes went wide. "Is–is there someway to tell just by looking at me?"

"Well, you have been smiling more–in between the moments of pure rage at Stanford, which are totally understandable. Sort of a…spring in your step at times. Noticed you also working on some sort of handwritten note at you desk during your breaks–"

"Yeah, fine. I've been getting laid. What about it?"

"Who's the lucky guy?"

Jennifer looked away for a bit as she put her hand to her hip. "Uhhh…my next door neighbor." She squinted at Karen, expecting a good, salty response to that.

Karen nodded, before taking a sip of her heavily-sugared and cream-filled coffee. "Convenient. Although a little messy if you guys were to break up."

Jennifer didn't say anything for a beat. Karen studied her face. "I sense trouble in paradise, although I'm not sure what or how much. Sex not good?"

Jennifer rolled her eyes. "That's…definitely not a problem."

"What, then?"

"He has his problems." Jennifer moved without thinking to the round table at the center of the break room, sat down, and Karen followed suit.

"Like what?"

"He's sort of unemployed at the moment, for one."

Karen shrugged. "Not ideal, but not exactly a unique problem, either. What else?"

"Lives with his mother–"

"Yeah, that's a big nope from me."

"No, no. He's actually the one taking care of her. Sort of like with Grams?"

"Ah, that's quite noble then. Again, not ideal, but not necessarily a negative."

Jennifer took a deep breath. Considered exactly how much she should or wanted to divulge. "He's…depressed, anxious. He saw someone for a while to talk about things, but he lost that recently."

Karen considered that. "Well, it's a good thing he has you."

Jennifer thought about that in turn. The two women quietly drank their coffee for a few moments.

"Okay, now you look mad about something. What is it?"

Jennifer shook her head. "I noticed this morning my family photo album was out on my coffee table. Pretty sure I hadn't left it there, and Arthur was in my apartment yesterday to feed Paulie."

"'Arthur,'" Karen repeated, "is that his name?"

"Yeah." Jennifer sipped some coffee.

"And Arthur lives with Mommy Dearest?"

"Uh, yeah?"

Karen raised her cup to her lips. "Wonder if she has any photos of little Arthur sitting around…." She looked at Jennifer pointedly.

….

Arthur met Jennifer at the train station again. Without saying anything, they walked up to each other and smiled, before he took her arm and they walked, arm-in-arm, up the stairs and out into the street.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Alright," she breathed. "Usual bullshit. Anything exciting happen on your end today?"

Arthur kicked a pebble across the sidewalk. Took a deep breath. "Not really." A beat. "Usual bullshit," he echoed.

"Feel like anything in particular for dinner?"

Arthur seemed to consider that for a few seconds, then a smirk curled his lips as he looked at Jennifer.

She was quick to interject. "Actual food Fleck!" She swatted him lightly on the arm as she smiled widely. "Not whatever you were thinking."

"Actual food…." Arthur said with mock disgust, like a petulant child.

They continued walking arm-in-arm. Jennifer watched him carefully.

"Okay, okay, how about…." He put his finger to his mouth; she scoffed. "Italian?"

"As it so happens, I have a fuck ton of spaghetti and sauce sitting in my cupboards at home that we could make."

"A 'fuck ton' is not a proper way to measure things, I think."

"It is when I make spaghetti."

"Well then, maybe I should make it."

She grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

….

Jennifer got off early the next day. Took a half day after feigning some vague symptoms after lunch. She figured she might as well; it had been a while since she had taken any sick time, she probably had a few weeks saved up by that point.

She went home and changed into some human clothes. She felt instant happiness at being relieved of her office uniform early.

She hadn't told Arthur her plans to take the half day. At dinner the night before, when he had brought up appearing at Pogo's the next night, and everything he was doing to prepare, he had asked her when she thought she would get off work.

"As soon as possible, maybe an hour earlier…." She didn't want to commit because she wasn't entirely sure herself whether her boss would let her have the half day, but luckily he seemed indifferent enough toward her that day that he didn't care.

Jennifer padded up to Arthur's door and gave it a few knocks. After a few moments, the door opened wide. "Hey! What are doing home so early?"

"_Well_," she said with an audible, Vivian Leigh-flourish; a relic of her past voice sounding through, though fading rapidly with each subsequent word. "The world of liability and annuity can wait a day. After all, I'm about to see my boyfriend become a _famous_ stand-up comedian."

A big grin spread over Arthur's face; his eyes flashed love, appreciation.

"Well, um, don't be rude, invite me inside."

"Oh, yeah, of course, come on in."

She stepped inside. She immediately started looking around for Mamma Fleck, but didn't see any sign of her. Jennifer suddenly remembered where she was a week ago.

"Mom at bingo?"

"Yeah, will be gone most of the night."

"Got it. Oh–" She found herself being held again, in the midst of another heated kiss.

She drew back. "So, is that a gun in your pocket or you happy to see me?"

Arthur smiled mischievously. The Laugh almost made appearance, but he successfully stifled it.

"Listen, I'm gonna go take a shower, but make yourself at home."

"'Kay."

She sat down on the couch. One of the old Universal monster movies was playing on Arthur's TV–probably because Halloween was that Saturday. Every day was a damn horror show in Gotham, so it was hard to tell the difference anymore. A few people were even wearing clown masks on the way home today. Jennifer rolled her eyes.

She heard the water spray of Arthur's shower start. She leaned over and saw the bathroom door was closed. Here was her opportunity.

She sprang up. Looked around. There were no photos of Arthur, Penny, or anyone else on the walls, on the side tables.

She quietly moved into Penny's room. Same thing there. Kind of odd; she would have thought someone like her would have had photos around, maybe to remind her of the old days, but there was nothing visible.

She looked around at what was in Penny's room. There was a dresser across from the queen bed. She wasn't going to poke around in there; she doubted anything would be in there, anyway. There were side tables flanking her bed, but she didn't quite want to open those up, either. As weird and aloof as she was and ungrateful as she seemed toward Arthur, invading her space still felt wrong, like a step too far.

Then again, what was she doing poking around their apartment, anyway? She was bitter; curious; wanting to see whatever their equivalent was to her memories. That's what.

She rushed back out to the living room. She didn't see many places where a photo album or the like could be kept. There was a cabinet in the corner with books on top of it; that seemed the most promising. She walked over to it and studied the books: phone books, dictionary, a "Big Book of Jokes"–she smiled at that–some J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis.

No albums, frames, nothing.

She did gingerly open the cabinet itself, but didn't find what she was looking for; it mostly just held their vinyl record collection. Same with a cabinet behind her that sat parallel to the couch. Nothing.

All the more strange, that there wouldn't be some photos somewhere. But then, maybe there was something tucked away in Penny's room, but she wasn't so hurt or such a bitch that she was going to violate her space…anymore than she already had by just going in there….

Her space. Was anything here Arthur's space? From the upholstery to the nick knacks, everything here seemed so Penny Fleck–unless her boyfriend's tastes were seriously to be questioned. No, he didn't even have his own room–how could any of this really be him?

Jennifer glanced over at the small table near the kitchen. She stepped up to it. Maybe this was it: all that could be called his. She saw Arthur's cigarettes, his keys. His journal was there. There was the briefest thought of stealing a peek at that–but stuff like journals and diaries were definitely a step too far for her.

There was also a slightly crumpled lunch bag on the table, and…something beneath it. She reached out and moved the bag, ever so slightly. It had some weight to it, so there was something in there. Made clicking noises as she moved it–

Oh shit. A gun.

Jennifer peered down at it. Looked like a .38. snub nose revolver. She grew up around a lot of guns–had one of her own–so she was pretty sure.

Her hand hovered over the gun. She made a fist to keep herself from shaking. She grabbed it and turned it over in her hand, examined it. She was about to hold it up to her nose and try and smell if it had been fired recently, when she heard the shower turn off.

She quickly replaced the gun on the table, was about to move away when she remembered the brown paper bag that was supposed to be on top of it. "Shit," she hissed. She did her best to return everything to its previous position before she first touched it. Not even a second before Arthur emerged from the bathroom did she finally sit back down on his couch.

Luckily, he didn't join her on the couch or anything like that. Just continued drying his hair as he headed for the kitchen. She felt like her heart was about to burst from her chest, and she was sure if someone looked closely enough, they'd see her shaking.

"Don't have much in the way of anything to drink, I'm afraid, but–"

"It's fine," she interrupted Arthur. "I should probably, actually, go get ready myself, hmm? Primp myself up a bit," she said as she stood shakily from the couch, her leg knocking against his coffee table at one point.

"Oh…okay! I'll see you in an hour or…however long you need."

She looked at a nearby clock. "I'll be back by 4:30."

….

The door shut behind Jennifer and she felt her whole body drop. God, that was close. All she wanted to do was look at some baby photos. She ended up being a total creeper and her reward was finding something she wish she hadn't.

She tried to rationalize. He probably got it for protection. He'd already been beaten up, mugged a couple of times, he'd told her. He was probably sick of it, and she really couldn't blame him. Gotham was a hell hole and such protection wasn't an entirely bad idea.

Jennifer's mind went back to when she first moved to the Big City. Her first several nights there she dared to go out and just walk its streets. She was curious, careless. Hating herself and, if she were to be honest, not really caring if something happened. After all, she had her .22 with her, tucked away beneath her moto jacket; she could handle whatever came her way….

She stopped when she realized what an idiot she was being. There are things far worse than death, and the gun in her pocket wouldn't necessarily stop someone from sneaking up on her, if they saw the opportunity, and jumping her, or a gang of men much bigger than her from overpowering her, especially in the darker shadows of the city.

Finally settling into her new life in Gotham, finding a new job, gave her some hope for the future, and she stepped back from the precipice. She stopped going out at night.

Jennifer felt a ball of wire coil and roil at the pit of her stomach. She sensed that something wasn't quite right.

She hoped Arthur wasn't staring over that same precipice.


	16. Chapter 16

Warnings: Angst. Angst, and some more angst. Language and some brief sexual talk. Brief cat. Viewer discretion is advised.

A/N: So this is a heavy one, in more ways than one. Fair warning that this chapter is a little longer than usual. Besides being a little lazy, something in me wanted this to all stay one chapter, rather than breaking it up.

...

Jennifer tried to push the gun to the back burner of her consciousness as she got ready. She showered and blow dried her hair out. Did her make-up. She surveyed her minimal lipstick collection and pulled the same deep red she wore that night she dragged Arthur to see Killing Joke. Thought maybe the color would make it easier for Arthur to spot her from the stage.

She went to her closet. Dragged her hand along the various blouses and shirts hanging there. She picked out a silky white wrap blouse and…a brown skirt that came down to just below her knees. Also a pair of heeled boots.

"You better hit it out of the park, Fleck, I'm actually wearing a skirt outside of work for you," she muttered to herself, smirking, as she shook her head and stood staring at her overall look in the mirror.

Once she was ready, she slipped on her wool coat before she marched over to Arthur's apartment. Knocked a "shave and a hair cut - two bits" onto the wood of his door.

The door swung open. "I recogni–Oh…." He looked at her with awe for a moment. "You look beautiful, even more than usual–not that that's really possible–I mean–"

She nodded, looked down. She could feel herself blushing.

"How are you so…" She looked back up at him; doubt clouded his features. "So sweet, so sincere."

The doubt was cleared away by a small smile.

Jennifer's eyes moved over Arthur. He had changed into a rust-colored vest and slacks, with the vest over a freshly pressed button-up. His hair was neat and he was freshly shaven. "You don't look half bad yourself, Mister."

His turn to look down and blush. "Thanks." He looked back up her, shrugged. "I tried."

"Well, you succeeded," she commented, as she moved forward, past Arthur and into the apartment. She did her best to boost his ego and comfort him over the next hour or so, as she sat and talked with him, then as they traveled to the comedy club, which wasn't far from their apartment complex.

Jennifer had actually been to Pogo's several times, given its proximity. She'd seen a couple of famous comedians of the day there, and had been to some of their open mic nights. When Arthur told her about his habit of going to those to study other comics, she realized they had both been in the same room at the same time at least a few times, and didn't realize it. She shook her head at how crazy life could be at times like that. Maybe they were meant to meet eventually.

She chased those thoughts away as Arthur lead her through the busy floor of the comedy club, where people were trying to find their seats and wannabe comics were navigating their way through the throng.

Jennifer found a suitable table toward the back and indicated she'd sit there.

"Hey, I'll be right here." She leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Go get 'em tiger."

He smiled shakily. "Thanks," he exhaled. He was distracted. He looked around and found his way back stage, to the club's green room where other comics were waiting to go up.

He felt some confidence at Jennifer being there to support him, but it also worked as sort of a double-edged sword, as he also was afraid of disappointing or appearing a fool in front of her as well. He hated to think it, but overall her presence was sort of a wash in terms of his confidence, although it would have killed a deeper part of him if she wasn't there.

He waited anxiously. Listened to the half dozen other comics before he stood and paced anxiously near the club's exit door while the one right before him was performing.

"Hey, Fleck, you're up next."

He took a deep breath before finally traveling up to the stage.

He spotted her while waiting in the wings. She had a drink and food before her; she made a face at the current comic who was wrapping up his act. He tried to will her to look at him.

Meanwhile, Jennifer also felt anxious. She couldn't eat the fries before her and–uncharacteristically–she had barely touched her Old Fashioned. She wanted him to do well, for so many reasons.

She suddenly felt a funny feeling: she felt compelled to look up and to the left. She spotted Arthur just before the emcee announced him as the next act. She gave him a thumbs up as he approached the stage.

He could barely talk. He tried to get his first joke out, but The Laugh of course felt compelled to make an appearance. He tried to stifle it–even covering his face with his arms, and turning away.

She shifted in her seat. She wanted so much to go up there and do…something. Comfort him. Drag him off stage. Yell at the audience. Something. But he had to do this on his own, and all she could do was watch.

He managed to calm himself enough that he got the first few jokes out. Not much laughing. She couldn't laugh herself just because of how tense the situation was. At most all she could do was smile weakly.

Eventually, though, he fell into a rhythm, and went on with his other material. More of the crowd started to laugh, including her. Though not everyone.

Jennifer actually laughed quite a bit, but she knew her sense of humor had long ago earned her a first class ticket to Hades after she died. Thankfully she and Arthur shared that dark sense of humor.

Arthur's time was up, and most of the audience politely clapped. Jennifer clapped and yelped the loudest, not caring how obnoxious she might have seemed.

Arthur disappeared backstage, and she didn't see him for much of the rest of the show, which was maybe 20 more minutes. He approached her table.

She smiled widely. "Hey!"

He noticed her drink was totally drained, but her food was still largely untouched. "Hey," he breathed. He sat down next to her with a huff. He reached over and mindlessly grabbed a few of the fries.

"You did good. Rough start," she admitted; she couldn't lie to him about this, "but you found your pace."

"Thanks," Arthur smiled weakly. He looked almost like he had been through war or something, a bit shell shocked. But she sensed some happiness, some sense of accomplishment, there as well.

She reached out and grabbed his hand. He reciprocated and held her hand in both of his.

"Hey," she said, "let's get out of here."

….

They walked the streets together, arm-in-arm, talking, laughing. Her boots clicked on the sidewalk as Jennifer walked. They put her at equal height with Arthur, which made kissing interesting, different.

Arthur became distracted by something; he approached a nearby newsstand. It was festooned with the big name papers, dailies, rags. All of them talked of clowns. Well, really, one in particular. The one that supposedly killed the three Wall Street brokers last week.

"Watchya lookin' at?" she asked him as she came to his side. She saw him smiling at the headlines.

"Just…the news."

She looked at the words, images. "I'd be lying if I said I felt bad for those guys."

Arthur looked at Jennifer quickly.

"I guess that makes me a horrible person, but I just…I don't know…." She shrugged.

"It doesn't make you a bad person," Arthur said quietly, as he stared at the newspapers.

"I heard on CNN they thought it might be this guy or one of these guys who had robbed a bank earlier in the day. They were also wearing clown masks."

Arthur's face turned to a frown, for a moment, before he turned to her and smiled. "Who knows." He shrugged. He slipped his arm around hers and they went back to strolling down the street, the papers forgotten.

They came upon by a donut shop. "Care for a treat?" He moved in front of her, held her hands. "My treat, this time."

She wanted to object, but thought better of it. "Sure," she smiled.

They went inside. Ordered coffee; Arthur got a bear claw, while Jennifer got a maple bar. She was surprised the shop still had so much to choose from, even though it was well after 10 PM. But this looked like one of those all-night places; a glance at the front door and the posted hours there confirmed it.

They found a table near the door. Arthur smoked as they started telling each other stories, competing to see who could get the other to laugh the most. Apparently he won, because she was doubled over, wheezing into her arm on the table eventually.

Jennifer was his best audience.

She looked up at him at one point, her mouth covering some last escaping giggles, and the look on his face was all love and appreciation.

She was so far gone and she had no idea how she got here. How had this random guy swooped into her life so suddenly and taken her heart as his? That's what it damn well was and she knew it. His.

She thought of expressing that feeling at some point, but she wasn't sure how. She also thought vaguely of the future, but there was too much to consider with that. Two or more lives that didn't fit exactly together and so many practical considerations that followed. But she pushed all that away. Life was short; she just wanted to be happy in the moment, with him.

They went home eventually. They were laughing, smiling, touching, on the elevator ride up.

They were standing in front of her front door. He held her tight. His lips had moved down to her neck; he was doing such a good job there she could feel herself getting wet already.

She grasped his hair and pulled him back a bit. "You really shouldn't do that unless you plan to fuck me right away, and I'm not sure we wanna give our neighbors that sort of show."

Arthur just shrugged as that shit-eating grin returned. Jennifer rolled her eyes.

"Didn't you say you have to check on your mother before you spend the night?"

"Yeah," he breathed, looked down. "Shouldn't take me too long." He pulled away reluctantly. "I'll be back within an hour."

"Don't take too long," she told him, before watching him float down the hall on cloud nine.

As soon as she walked through her door, even before she took off her coat, she slipped off the heeled boots. She was pretty sure her feet thanked her silently. She then slipped off her coat before heading to her bathroom to wash off her make-up with cold cream. She stared at herself in the mirror for a few seconds.

She decided to leave that evening's outfit on. Let him take it off.

Jennifer relaxed into her couch. She switched on her TV and turned to MTV. After several songs, she heard yelling from somewhere in the building. She sighed and shook her head, rolled her eyes. She was about to turn the volume up on her TV, but something stopped her. She listened. There was something familiar and yet totally unfamiliar about the voices.

She rose from her couch, opened her front door.

She heard it again. It was coming from Arthur's apartment.

Jennifer haphazardly closed her door behind her before rushing down the hall. She skidded to a stop in front of his door. She didn't hear anything for a few moments, then a large thud.

She banged on the door three times. "Arthur, open up!"

She waited anxiously for endless seconds, growing frustrated. She banged even harder a few more times. "Arthur I swear to fucking Christ!"

The door finally whoosed open, and since she had been leaning on it a bit she almost fell forward, before catching herself on the door frame.

"Hello," he said to her with an unnerving smile, anger seething beneath the surface. This was not a side of him she had seen before and it was scaring her a bit.

"Where's Penny?" she asked uneasily.

"Locked in her bathroom," he looked daggers toward their bathroom. That unnerving smile was appearing and disappearing from his face.

"Um, okay. Arthur, you're going to come with me to apartment, okay?" She didn't know what was going on, but Jennifer felt like separating the two Flecks would be the best course of action at that moment.

"I–"

"No. You are coming with me to my apartment. Right now."

A helplessness washed over his face. She took the opportunity; she grabbed him by the hand and dragged him from his apartment, shutting the door behind him. He followed her to her apartment.

As soon as she shut her door, he pressed some papers into her into hand. "Read this. My mother wrote it. She said it's all true."

She took what appeared to be a letter. She flipped it over a couple of times, trying to discern where it started.

Jennifer recognized Penny's handwriting from the other mail and papers she had seen in the apartment. It was so much neater than Arthur's, which she always found a little strange.

"Dearest Thomas…." she started out loud. She read through the letter itself silently. Read it again.

"Oh my God."

He had told her about his mother's need to write to Thomas Wayne at least once or twice a month over the better part of the last year. Thinking he would help her. How she had previously worked for the Wayne family for several years before she was let go…some thirty years prior.

According to Penny, it was because they had found a younger girl who was willing to work for less, and Penny herself was ready to move onto something else, but Arthur suspected his sudden appearance made his mother suddenly less employable, and got her fired. If his father was around during his first years on this planet, he didn't remember. From his earliest memories, it was always him and Penny…and occasionally some other guy.

Feeling like he got his mother fired always gave him some degree of guilt, which he tried to alleviate by being the man of the house, by taking care of her. To Jennifer's view, Penny took full advantage of it, and it made her angry. Was a little too reminiscent for her liking.

So Penny had been appealing to former lover for help. Maybe it was the only thing in her mind that she could think of to try and better their situation, but…what on earth would one of Gotham's most powerful men want to do his long-discarded paramour? Even if she did have his son?

Arthur had been pacing up and down Jennifer's living room for a little while, but was now sitting on her couch, his head in his hands. She didn't know what to say.

"I need to go see him," he said, without looking up.

"What?"

He looked up. "I'm gonna go see him. To see my father."

"Well, wait…didn't you try to go see him once to deliver one of these letters personally, and didn't get anywhere near him?" Jennifer held the letter up. She sort of wanted to burn it, if she were to be honest.

"I'll try something different this time, I guess," he rose from the couch.

"I don't know. I…."

He walked up to her. "You don't think I should go?"

"No! No, in fact…um…."

"What's wrong Jenny?"

She pursed her lips together hard. She could feel herself shake. "I think you should go, cause, um…. I don't exactly have either of my parents anymore, and if you have a chance to have both, to get one back…."

He looked at her–concerned, confused, curious. "Talk to me, Jenny."

Jennifer nodded as she bit into her lip. Her back hit the wall behind her, and she slid down to the ground. Arthur sat down on the floor across from her.

"I…was not exactly planned either," she laughed bitterly. "My one uncle would always call me The Oops. My parents were a couple of dumb seventeen-year-olds, weren't even really dating. Didn't even really like each other all that much, actually." She laughed again. "But once I was on the way, all of Susie Stewart's and Bill Cullen's individual dreams and ambitions went straight down the toilet. They got married, basically against their will, and got whatever jobs they had to to keep me clothed and fed.

"They hated me, because I was the reason for their unhappiness. At least, they always did a good job of making me feel that way. I…loved them, I think? I don't know. It…it was hard to tell what love was, when you didn't get it from the very people who were supposed to give it to you from the beginning, ya know?"

Arthur nodded.

"I think one of the few things that saved me, that kept me from just looking at everything as a giant shit hole was my grandmother. She wasn't around when I was really little, cause my parents moved up for north for a bit, but then when they had to come back, she was there." She smiled weakly. "She was always there…."

Jennifer shifted. "Um. One night, when I was about…16 or so, my parents hadn't come home. This cop showed up at our house out of the blue. Told me without any warning or words of sympathy that my parents had just died–crushed to death, actually, in a bad car accident on the interstate. They had been hit by this massive semi truck." She wiped away the tears that were starting to spill over onto her cheeks. "Which was driven by some fuck who was drunk off his ass."

"Then why–"

"Yeah, I guess it would seem ironic," she said, staring up at the ceiling. "My being an alcoholic. I thought about that for a long time. I mean, it does run in the family and everything. But you'd think I'd be so disgusted by it. But then it dawned on me one day."

"What?"

"I guess…on some level, I just sort of want it to kill me too." She locked eyes with him then; he looked disturbed, hurt, by her saying that. But he didn't say anything.

She took a deep breath. "Anyway. I…didn't even have time to really process anything, before that same cop hauled me down to the the local funeral home." Her voice became strained. "My parents were already there. They had to be identified, he kept insisting." She shut her eyes; wished she could have shut her eyes then. She tried to force out the next words, but she stayed quiet for several moments. She could feel the air shift around her, then a pair of arms slowly wrapped around her. She leaned into Arthur, who was now sitting to her right. Little Paulie had also come over and plopped himself into her lap.

"I…couldn't handle it. Couldn't handle any of it. I broke. My mind just…broke. They tried to talk me through it, did stupid things to cheer me up, but they didn't get it. I couldn't…do…anything…." She let out a single sob. She covered her mouth, trying to prevent any others from coming out. She didn't want to stifle the emotion, per se, as much as she needed to be able to tell him everything.

"Before I even knew what happened, the state had locked me up in this asylum. I mean, I didn't even fully understand why, what my…_diagnosis_" she drawled bitterly…"was supposed to be. The only thing I could think is they just didn't know what else to do with me, this teenager who just been orphaned.

"It was such hell. Just this…white, blank hell. Nothingness." She was quiet for a moment. "There was, um, this guard, who…looked at me funny a lot. Made remarks. How I was the only young pretty thing he got to see every day at that shit hole. He tried once, but I stopped him," she whispered low. She squeezed Arthur's arm. "I did what I had to."

Jennifer shook her head. "God knows what would have happened to me, had Grams not come to save the day. 'I'm here to get ya Jenny.' She had won custody of me, and had finally found where they had put me."

She started to laugh again. "God I could hear her, all the way from my cell, Art, _I could hear her_. That woman could scream up a storm. 'Of course she was upset, she saw her Goddamn parents crushed into cat food, for fuck's sake!' God. Grams wasn't known for her tact.

"It's funny, I can still see that paisley print shirt dress she was wearing, and those plain brown shoes, clear as day, as if she were standing in front of us right now." She extended her hand out into the empty air before them and moved her hand, as she had that day, to grasp the hem of her grandmother's dress. But all she felt was the cold air.

"She got me out, and I loved her, and owed for that. And to her and Gramps for taking me in, taking care of me, letting me know I was loved. Bringing me back from the brink. I didn't think twice of coming back home for a bit, right after he died, and of taking Grams in when she was dying.

"I was able to move on with my life, more or less. Finish high school. Went to secretarial school. Decided I wanted better than my small town could offer. Or, well–different, at least. So I came here. Figured here, New York, or Metropolis. Someplace with plenty of jobs. Public transportation, so I would never have to sit behind the wheel of a car.

"I went to work for an insurance company, because I thought I could maybe help people who were hurt in similar situations, somehow. But so far it's just sort of felt like a big waste of time."

She fell quiet. Hugged Arthur closer to her. She looked down at Paulie, who was purring away in her lap.

"Can I…can I share something with you?"

Jennifer wiped the wetness from her cheeks as she shifted to look up at him. "Of course."

"I…I was put in an asylum too. Arkham. Several years ago. I…just sort of lost it, too. Something broke. I didn't know where to go, what to do, for a long time. For..for a few years, anyway."

She shifted position again and drew away from him a bit, so she could look him in the face. "Oh baby, I'm so sorry." She caressed his face and gave him a tender kiss, before he took her back into his arms, kissing her on the forehead. They just sat together for so many uncounted moments, listening to the ambient noises of the city, only somewhat muffled by her thin walls.

"Never thought I'd have that in common with someone I'm seeing. Having both been in the nuthouse."

"Me neither."

Jennifer held her hand up, open, facing him. He made a questioning noise.

"I guess if you can't be proud of your worst moments–cause of what they taught you and how they toughened you–then you can't move past them. I guess. Or I just think high-fiving over us both being nutcases would be funny."

He shook his head, laughing a bit. "Okay."

They high-fived.


	17. Chapter 17

**Warnings**: Language, can't really think of anything else….

**A/N**: See the end of this chapter.

…..

Jennifer woke up with a start. She reached over and grasped her alarm clock, fingering the switch to get the hammer to stop slamming between the bells, turning it off.

Something didn't quite feel right. She looked down to see she was still in her regular clothes–the outfit she wore last night, sans the torture devices she called her boots. She was also laying on top of her quilt comforter, but one of her spare blankets was covering her.

Jennifer could also feel hot air gently blowing on her neck, moving her hair. She turned around to see Arthur sleeping beside her, also covered by the blanket. Also still in the outfit he wore last night.

She smiled at first, remembering the lighter moments of the night before–the club, the donut shop, the brief make-out session in front of her door. Then everything else flooded back, and she shut her eyes tight and covered her face with her hands.

Jennifer didn't like to discuss herself. Didn't like mulling over the past, much less speaking it out loud. Feeling all the emotions those memories elicited. She knew she had to tell Arthur at some point, probably should have told him sooner, but…she still hated it.

"Morning…is something wrong?" Arthur murmured.

She lowered her hands to see him smiling at her, but there was a tinge of sadness to it. She read it as pity, and it annoyed her a bit.

"I'm okay," she said numbly. She sighed at herself. "Okay, not really, but I'll survive I guess."

He ran his hand up and down her arm, and it worked to soften her a bit. She moved closer to him, planted a kiss on his lips. "How about you? Are you okay?" She felt guilty then. This had all started with the batshit news about who his dad really is, and somehow all the focus had been turned on her.

Arthur just shrugged. "I'll survive."

"Are you going to go see him today?"

"I'm going to try."

Jennifer nodded.

She thought of calling in sick, but some part of her suspected there would be true hell to pay come next week if she did. Considering tomorrow was a holiday, Halloween, her boss would assume she'd taken the day off to start partying early or something–doubtless a few others in the office would–and he'd probably question her sob story from yesterday.

She sighed in aggravation. "Think I need to get ready for work."

Arthur looked a little sad. Maybe he expected or wanted her to play hookie. Maybe he just felt bad she had to return to that hell hole. Either way, she reached out and palmed his cheek. "I'll be back tonight…."

He apologized to her that he might not be able to meet her at the train station that night, depending on how the day went. She lied, saying Karen would accompany her home, so it was fine. But she had her gun; she was more or less sure she'd be okay.

….

The conductor's voice came over the intercom system: "Next stop, Barker Street."

Jennifer sighed. She was tired. Maybe even getting sick for real. She had stayed an extra hour, taking care of a mess that had broken out after she had left early yesterday. There was always a mess, always something to do that required more time than they gave her for it, but somehow it all got done.

She actually felt a little sad at not seeing Arthur anywhere when she stepped off the train car. She started her trek home. Her fatigued mind mulled over what to make for dinner for the two of them, considered just giving up and getting more pizza. Arthur seemed to like her cooking, and she liked his, but she just wasn't in a domestic mood. Depending on how his day had gone, there was a good chance he wouldn't be, either.

Jennifer was just sort of in the mood for some sex and sleep, to be honest. Hoped he felt the same.

The closer she got to her apartment building, the more she saw flashing red lights. By the time she rounded the last corner, she saw an ambulance pull away. She wondered vaguely whether Mrs. Porter had finally given up the ghost, or old man Johnson on the bottom floor.

Jennifer spotted her neighbor Sophie, her little girl Gigi by her side. "Hey," she called out to her as she walked up to the entrance of their building. "What's going on?"

"You might want to head for the hospital."

"What are you talking about?"

Sophie moved her head to indicate the ambulance. "Arthur's mother was in that ambulance, along with Arthur."

Jennifer's blood ran cold. "O-okay. Thanks." She passed her neighbor and rushed into the lobby of their building, but she came face-to-face with two middle-aged men in cheap suits and overcoats. Police badges were hanging on their necks. "You live here, ma'am?" the skinnier of the two asked her.

"Yes…."

"What floor?"

"Eighth…. Why?"

"Do you know your neighbor, ah, Arthur Fleck, very well?"

Jennifer paused, just half a second. "No, not really."

"Not really?" the more portly, bald one asked.

She shrugged. "I mean, I pass by him sometimes. Say 'Hi.' Not sure you can call that knowing. Why do you ask?"

The first man nodded. "We're just asking in regards to a big case going on right now–the subway killings, you mighta saw on TV? In light of the description of the assailant, we're just asking around people we know work or have worked as clowns–"

"Well I don't know any clowns, and despite what my boss may say, I don't work as one, so good night, Detectives." She started to move away.

"Hey–"

"Am I under custody? Technically? What else can I tell you?"

The cops shared a look. "Thanks for your time, ma'am."

She continued heading for the elevators. Exhaled a shaky breath after hitting the call button. Something visceral in her wanted, needed, to get away from them as fast as possible; being around the badges reminded her too much of the past. But then it dawned on her–

"Hey, wait a minute," she turned around. "Did you have anything to do with Fleck leaving in an ambulance with his mom just now?" She shrugged quickly. "Uh, one of our neighbors mentioned it."

A strange look came over the cops' faces. "…No. No, that's something unrelated."

….

Arthur had started the day hopeful.

Jennifer's words echoed in his head. A chance to have both of his parents, to get one back.

He had gone to the library when it opened, then stopped by a news stand on the way to the nearest train station. Wherever he could get information on the Waynes. He was able to figure out where the Wayne mansion was. That seemed as good a place as any to try and talk with his father.

Father. Dad. Mom and dad. He stared at a photo of the Wayne family that had happened to be printed in that day's Gotham Gazette. Imagined himself around them, what it would be like–to have family, real family, in his life. Also to be able to share that with Jennifer, when she didn't really have one any more.

But by the end of the day, the image of he and Jennifer among his new, bigger family had not only vanished, but it seemed as if his existing family might soon disappear as well, and it frightened him to death.

….

Jennifer changed into jeans and a sweater and threw on her moto jacket before heading down to the hospital. She saw Nancy there, who let her know exactly where they had brought Penny Fleck.

But first, she had bought a bouquet of sympathy flowers from the hospital's gift shop. She didn't really know if the cops had talked to Arthur already, but if they showed up and she was there, despite her claims to not really knowing him, she wanted to have a believable story.

"Oh hi, neighbor, heard your mom wasn't doing well. Thought I'd take the opportunity to swing by and introduce myself, bring her some flowers. I'm Jennifer, by the way."

Something like that.

She wasn't sure why she lied earlier. Other than who she slept with was no one else's fucking business. Other than the fact that being around cops–or most authority figures, really–made her skin crawl.

She still wasn't really clear on why they were even at her apartment in the first place. Questioning anyone who had even worked as a clown? Were they that desperate for a suspect? Their also being around at the same time Penny was being carted off to the hospital seemed weirdly coincidental. She wanted to bring it up to Arthur, but she knew this wasn't the time.

She found the room Mama Fleck had been put in. She opened the door and stepped inside.

Arthur was there, sitting in one of the chairs near her bed, hunched over, looking like death. Walking further into the room, past a curtain divider, Jennifer was able to see Penny, hooked up to various machines as she lay unconscious in bed. Seeing her like this also brought up painful memories for her.

"Arthur?"

He looked up slowly, then jumped up when he saw it was her. They rushed up to each other and hugged. He hugged her so tight, she thought she might suffocate for a bit.

"Ow," he said, before looking down; the card sticking out of the flowers was sticking straight into his shoulder.

"What…?"

"Uh, I'll tell you later." She set the flowers down on a nearby table. She took Arthur's hands into her own and led him back to the chairs, where they both sat. "Tell me what happened."

"Doctor said she had a stroke, a big one. She had a small one before, a few years ago. But this time she'll have to stay here a week."

She drew a heavy breath. She knew from the worse cases she had to deal with at work just how much a week's stint in the hospital would cost. She knew they were basically on public assistance, but she wasn't sure whether the recent cuts that had left Arthur without any treatment or medication would also mean they'd be stuck with this bill.

"I don't know…whether this was really...what if I..."

Jennifer reached over and rubbed Arthur's back. "It's okay, baby. It'll be okay."

He shook his head. "These cops came here earlier. They said they talked to her, asked about…something. Said she got hysterical then collapsed, hit her head."

Her blood ran cold. That didn't exactly align with what she had been told.

Something…"unrelated." Sure.

She pursed her lips. She felt angry, suspicious, but a lot of that was pushed aside as she watched Arthur carefully. He put his head in his hands. She could see his frame become tense, his visible muscles become taut. She noticed his jaw moving.

He needed a distraction.

"Hey, have you eaten today?"

"What?"

"You heard me, Fleck. Have you eaten anything?"

"No," he mumbled. She smiled hesitantly as he gave the question some thought, which in itself seemed to unwind him a bit. He sat up straighter.

"I guess I could do with a bite to eat."

"So could I." Jennifer patted him on the arm. Suggested a Chinese place that was across from the hospital. Nancy had told her enough horror stories to make her never want to set foot in the hospital's cafeteria.

Dinner did serve as somewhat of a distraction, though she could tell his mother was never too far from his mind. After dinner, they returned to the hospital. Nothing about Penny's condition had changed; she was still out like a light.

Even after sitting with her for another hour or so, Arthur was steadfast in not wanting to leave her side.

"I just feel…guilty. Like if I hadn't gone out there today–"

"Oh yeah, how did that go? Did you get to talk to Dad?"

Something about the fact that Jennifer already called his putative father "Dad" made him somewhat happy, made him smile.

That smile was quick to fade back into a frown. "No. I went to their house. I talked to their son, I guess–"

"Son? How old?"

"I don't know…maybe 11, 12?"

"Do you know his name?"

Arthur shrugged. "I don't–no, he said it. Bruce."

"Bruce," she repeated, taking note of it. "Baby brother Bruce…. I kinda like it."

Arthur smiled briefly. "I didn't even really get a chance to talk to him, before their butler intervened. He wouldn't…." Arthur glanced at Penny. "He said my mother was delusional."

She had to bite her tongue from making a comment at that. Despite what she thought of Penny, she had a feeling this Thomas Wayne thing was true. "Well, listen, there has to be some way you can talk to your dad. We'll think of something."

He tried to conjure up a smile for her then, but too much was weighing on his mind. She reached over and wrapped an arm around him. He relaxed into her a bit.

"Are you sure you don't want to go home? She's in good hands here. My friend promised to look in on her when she could."

"I just…feels like I shouldn't."

She sighed. "Okay. I just…you need to sleep at some point. You're not doing any good by her by running yourself ragged."

Arthur didn't say anything. She felt like it was going to be a long night at this rate; at least she had tomorrow off.

"I'm gonna get us some coffee," she said as she rose warily from her seat. "I'll be back."

"Okay," he said as continued to look on at his mother.

She had to walk a ways to find the coffee machine. The coffee she was about to buy from it was probably going to suck, but at least it was something. As she inserted the change and watched the machine dispense and fill the first cup, Live with Murray Franklin! started on a TV hanging from the ceiling behind her. Arthur loved Murray but she was sort of lukewarm on him. Still, if they were both up and not…otherwise preoccupied around the time he came on, she would turn the channel to NCB so he could watch.

As she took a reluctant drink of the machine-made coffee and gathered enough change to buy another one, Murray ran some joke about the garbage strike in Gotham. Standard stuff.

As the second cup dropped and the machine whirred, a familiar voice sounded from the TV behind her….

She turned to see Arthur on TV. It was footage from the night before, at Pogo's. She had no idea anyone had been filming the open mic. That they even did that. But it wasn't his better stuff they were playing. It was that first joke he choked out, where he tells his mother about growing up to be a comedian. She wondered why on earth they'd play that, but then realized why when they cut back to Murray, who made a snide remark that got some laughs, before they showed another clip. Arthur's next joke that had gone over like a lead balloon, to which Murray also made a snarky remark for some laughs.

What a fucking cunt.

Oh God–had Arthur been watching this?

She tried to remember what channel the TV in Penny's room had been turned to before she left, as she ran down the hospital's halls back toward her room, leaving behind the machine coffee.

She reached the room, but Arthur was not inside. Murray Franklin was indeed playing on the TV bolted to the ceiling.

Shit.

...

**A/N**: So when my friend and I watched Joker the first time, he thought it was weird that the cops' story of what happened with Penny didn't align with what Arthur had been told had happened to her? We eventually got it in our heads that–given where Arthur had been earlier in the day and his whole being Thomas Wayne's bastard son thing–that the cops were on Daddy Wayne's payroll and went to see Arthur and/or Penny in order to shut up one or both of them. I'm going off of that theory here.


	18. Chapter 18

**Warnings**: Language...but isn't that a given with me by now?

**A/N**: This and the next chapter are going to have some self-indulgent twaddle forgive me ahead of time. lol

"Mrrow? Mrrow."

"Yeah, hi little guy," Jennifer said with a scratchy voice to her fur baby, as she shut the door of her apartment. She took off her jacket with a hiss. She was sore, exhausted, after spending an hour searching everywhere for Arthur. Well, everywhere being whatever part of the hospital she could access, including a multi-storied stairwell, the Chinese place (even though it was closed by that point), the donut shop, even yelling out his name everywhere in the building, like a mad woman.

She finally just gave up. He was a grown man. If he didn't want to be found, that was his choice. Fucker.

But then, she had no idea what mental state he was in after being made fun of on national television of all fucking things, and that scared her to death. Jennifer thought of the gun for the first time since yesterday afternoon.

She tried Arthur's apartment. It was unlocked. He must have forgotten or not even had the chance to lock it up before he took off with his mom for that ambulance ride to the hospital. Amazingly, nothing had been stolen–not that there was really anything here worth stealing. She stepped up to their small dining table.

The lunch bag was still there. She moved it aside. So was the gun. She picked it up again, taking the chance to smell it this time.

It didn't smell like it had been fired recently. But then it also looked as if it had been recently cleaned.

She looked all over the apartment, even in their closets. No Arthur.

Whatever she felt or feared in that moment, she had run out of places to look. There wasn't really anything else she could do but wait.

So Jennifer had gone home to little Paulie and her bed. Probably the two other great loves in her life….

Besides Arthur.

She kicked her bedroom door open in frustration. Through the darkness, she could see something…somebody…on her bed move suddenly. She panicked. She reached for her .22 that she happened to have shoved in her back pocket, pulled it out, and cocked it.

She heard a yelp as the figure hopped off the bed and hid behind it. "Please don't shoot me."

Jennifer did a double take. "Art?" She lowered the gun.

"Yeah…." He slowly rose from behind the bed. Reached over and turned on one of her bedside lamps. "Why do you have a gun?"

"Probably the same reason you have a gun?"

He turned a little pale. "How do you know I have a gun?"

Shit, shit, shit, shit–"Uh…" Her shoulders drooped as she sighed. She uncocked the .22 and set it down on her nearby dresser. "Probably the same way you know what my family looks like."

Arthur looked confused at first. Then…not so much, as it started to come together in his mind. "You looked around in my stuff."

"Like you looked around mine, yup," she retorted, as she crossed her arms.

He looked down. "I shouldn't have done that, but–"

"I shouldn't have, either. I agree."

They both stood there quietly for a moment, not saying anything, looking away. Jennifer spoke first: "Let's just…forget about it, and try not to be so nosy in the future. Need to trust each other."

He nodded. "I agree."

She was tempted to be a little catty in that moment–he had totally run off and disappeared, leaving her worried sick. But then she also wanted to kick herself for not realizing he had essentially just gone home, probably out of embarrassment.

She sighed again before slipping out of her clothes, donning an over-sized raglan shirt, and climbing into bed. "Come lay next to me." She reached out a hand. "Please."

Arthur shed his sweater, shirt, pants, and crawled into bed, moved close to Jennifer. "This good?"

She wrapped her arms around him, breathed him in. "Yes."

….

Around dawn, she felt him stir. He gently removed himself from her embrace, from her bed, and started dressing automatically. Still somewhat sheathed in sleep, she watched him, confused. Then she realized–

"Baby. You don't have to go. She isn't there."

He stopped just as he was about to shove an arm through a sleeve of his sweater. He stood still a moment. "You're right." He didn't take his clothes off again; just plopped tiredly back into bed.

They fell asleep. The next time Jennifer glanced at her clock, it said 9:18 AM.

She coughed. She felt a scratchiness in the back of her throat as she swallowed. Jennifer groaned out loud.

"What's wrong?" a familiar voice said next to her. She looked over to see he was sitting up in bed, smoking one of his Stuttons.

Jennifer coughed a bit more. "Think I might be sick."

He quickly stubbed out his cigarette in one of her parents' ashtrays, and came back to her. "How? You have a cold?" he asked gently. He ran his hands up and down her body, almost as if he could physically pick up on whatever it was that was wrong with her.

"Yeah, maybe," she croaked out.

He laid the back of his hand against her forehead. "You don't feel hot. Do you feel nauseous? Ache at all?"

She stabbed an index finger into his chest. "Just for you, old sport."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Smirked a little too. "That's not what I meant."

Jennifer shook her head. "Just my throat."

Arthur jumped out of bed and hurried out of the room. Jennifer propped herself on her elbows, and looked around, confused. Next thing she knew, he was back with a glass of water and some ibuprofen.

She knew she was giving him A Look.

"Go on, take it," he urged gently.

She sighed. Took the water and downed the pills. "Think maybe I'll take a hot shower. It might help."

He sat back down on his side of the bed, watched her. She hesitated as she looked toward her bathroom, which looked so awfully far away, before she heaved out a heavy breath and settled back into the blankets and pillows, letting out a sound of disgust.

Of all things, she felt a light smack on her arse. "C'mon. Or I'll have to chase you in there."

She looked behind her, incredulous. "Did-did you just…smack me on the ass?"

A look of uncertainty slowly morphed into a smile. "…Yes."

Jennifer suddenly chuckled. "Who do you think you are, me?" She freed herself of her blankets, swung her legs over, and stood up. "We might be hanging around each other too much."

"Is that a bad thing?" Arthur actually looked a bit concerned.

She was quick to round her bed and approach him. "Of course not." She squeezed his hand. She was about to lean in for a kiss, but she worried about getting him sick–the last thing he needed at this point. She said as much.

"I don't care," he said before pulling her in for a kiss. It was strong, sudden. Didn't entirely feel like Arthur. Something about this felt a lot like the guy who showed up at her door that Friday night in clown make-up, who took her suddenly. It excited her, but felt…off, at the same time. She couldn't quite say why.

As she let the hot water spill over her a few minutes later, Jennifer let her mind wander. Thinking of the pain killers she'd just taken made her remember that somewhere in here Arthur's medication was dwindling down to nothing, if he wasn't already out of at least some of them. That gave her pause somewhat. Pondered whether it was or would change him much. But she shook her head. There wasn't much she could do about it, she thought. She shook her head; she just wanted to be happy in the present with him.

She pushed the thoughts aside as she shut the water off and stepped out. Arthur was there, with a towel, waiting for her. "C'mon." He motioned toward himself.

Jennifer stepped up to him, into the towel, let him wrap it around her. She reached over and grabbed another one to wrap around her wet hair.

She headed back into her bedroom, and a pair of pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt were waiting there on the bed already, which had been made.

She looked over at him.

"Sorry. If you want to go back to bed–"

"No, I should probably get up and do something." She started to get dressed. "Even if all that is is watch TV."

After dressing, Jennifer went out in her living room and did just that, switching on her TV. There was a Vincent Price movie on TV. She smiled. She had forgotten that it was Halloween today.

Arthur was doing something in the kitchen.

"Oh, Paulie–"

"He's been fed."

"Oh…. Thank you."

A few minutes later she heard her tea kettle whistle briefly, then a few minutes more and Arthur came out with a well-steeped cup, handing it to her. "Drink that."

She took it. "Yes, Doctor." Jennifer looked down at it, took a sip. It was delicious, with a little honey and lemon. Still…. "We can't add a little pick-me-up to this?"

Arthur gave her A Look.

"Never mind, I guess…."

He sat down beside her. Jennifer had been watching him carefully. She sensed that he took some sort of pride or pleasure in being able to take care of her. She wondered with some sadness whether he felt at a loss for some purpose, now that he didn't even have his mother to take care of. That on top of no job, what was he supposed to do with himself?

He could take care of himself a bit more for once, she thought wryly. But then looking over at him she noticed for the first time it appeared he had gone over to his apartment and showered and changed himself at some point that morning.

Still, as the day wore on and it became obvious she wasn't in fact sick–probably just allergies and fatigue, she'd said–he seemed more withdrawn, dejected. Sad. He called over to the hospital once to check on his mother, but after hearing that there had been no change, he didn't call or discuss it again.

At one point she remembered that stupid ass Murray Franklin and what happened last night. She didn't bring it up, because even just remembering it made _her_ flinch. She wondered if there was some way she could complain about it. Maybe burn the studio down? Someone like Franklin was probably so protected and shielded from everyone and everything bad, there was no way she could just walk up to him and shout in his face, as much as she wanted to.

Later in the afternoon, but before it had gotten dark, she suggested a trip to the local bodega market. Something to do, she said, but there was also something she was hoping was there…and it was.

Jennifer smiled and clapped when she saw it. Arthur looked at her confused.

She picked up the orange orb and held it in her arms. "They have pumpkins!"

"Umm…okay."

"Ya know," she held it up. "For jack-o-lanterns."

He looked at her with a blank stare.

She sighed. "Look, I know I'm a country bumpkin but surely you carved some when you were younger?"

Arthur looked timid, a little ashamed. "No, not really…."

She looked down, then smiled up at him. "Well, we're going to tonight, then."

He smiled back. "Oh…okay!"

Jennifer picked up a couple of other necessities. Arthur bought more papers. She almost reached for a fresh bottle of whiskey, but she could feel Arthur's eyes on her. She wondered with some faint irritation if she was ever going to be able to really drink much in front of him after her confession the night before last.

She saw Halloween candy but passed on that. She had bought some candy about two weeks ago and it was still at home. Frankly, she was surprised she had any left, knowing her weak sense of restraint. Not that it mattered much if she had a full bag. The only children who would come around, if they came at all, would be the few children who lived in the building, who didn't dare to go anywhere else in this city because of their parents' fear for their safety.

"Did you…trick or treat much when you were a kid?" she asked him on the way home.

"Oh yeah. Several times, actually."

She smiled. "It was one of my favorite things as a kid. I hated when I was only allowed to have like, one or two pieces after I'd get home."

He looked down. "I…usually ate most of it that night. Was all I had to eat."

Hearing that took the wind out of her. Not that hearing it surprised her all that much, but still.

When she got home, she laid everything out for the pumpkin carving. Arthur looked at her like she was a little nuts, but he seemed to enjoy himself as he cut his open, scraped out the guts, and carved a face into it similar to the one she carved into hers.

That evening, the two jack-o-lanterns, with candle light shinning through their crooked smiles (one of those smiles being much wider than the other) looked upon the two of them on the couch. She was sitting while Arthur lay down, his head in her lap. She was running her fingers through his hair and down his back.

Jennifer heard a knock at the door–the first of the night. She had a pretty good idea who it was.

She opened the door and smiled down at little Gigi, who was holding open an empty pillow case, and was dressed as a clown. "Trick er treat!"

"I tried to talk her into dressing as something else," Sophie was quick to say. "But she keeps seeing these guys dressed as clowns on TV and now she's like, obsessed."

Jennifer shrugged. "Kids are like that." She grabbed the glass bowl of candy she had left near her front door, picked out some of the better pieces, and dropped them into Gigi's pillow case. "Arthur, come look at this," she called back into her apartment.

Arthur hopped up from her couch and joined her at the door, which she opened a little wider so they both could look.

A big smile spread over his face. "Awww, how adorable!" He crouched down so he was at the girl's level. "What's your name?"

The girl looked confused, if not a little mad. "You know–Gigi!"

"No, no," Arthur waved that away. "Your clown name."

"Oh!" The girl gave that some good thought. "How abouuut…. Daisy." Much of her costume was yellow.

"That's a good one," Arthur told her, as he patted her head.

He asked her a few more questions about her costume and what candy she had gotten so far.

At one point during their conversation, Sophie gave Jennifer a knowing, smirking look. A _You're sleeping with the weird guy down the hall, but you make a cute couple_ sort of look.

Jennifer rolled her eyes, tried to suppress her own smile.

"Well, we better get going. Plenty of candy to get…."

Gigi brightened. "Candy, candy, candy!" she chanted as she started marching down the hall.

"See ya two later," Sophie laughed, before following her daughter. Jennifer and Arthur waved them off.

Remembering what Sophie said, Jennifer was curious. She sat back down on the couch, and Arthur followed. She switched the TV from _Dracula_ to the local news. There was coverage of the recent protests. Clowns–at least people in clown masks–definitely abounded.

The picture changed and suddenly there were images of some rioting and looting. Halloween was always a dangerous night in Gotham–hence why she and many of her neighbors stayed inside after dark. Why people like Sophie and her girl restricted their trick-or-treating to their own buildings, to places they knew. But this year seemed especially bad.

They cut back to a particular protester who was being interviewed. Spewed out a litany of curses against Thomas Wayne and the rich in general.

Jennifer glanced over at Arthur, who seemed to be watching all this intently. In fact, she thought she could see the faintest smile on his lips.

Another question formed in her brain. It begged to be asked aloud this time.

"What's so funny?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Warnings**: Oh boy. This one deals with treatment/hospitalization (in a sense); violence toward the end; near-sexual situations, some not consensual. Viewer discretion is advised.

**A/N**: Sorry for not updating for a bit. I slaved and worried over this one a bit; this is me experimenting a little and taking a risk. A very _Legion_-esq random detour from the main story (the FX show with Dan Stevens–very recommended if you haven't seen it but liked _Joker_, btw). But I wanted to test myself a tad as a writer and have a way to develop the characters that was a little different. (Also an excuse to bring Carnival back for a bit.) Hopefully you like it and don't hate me. ? The regular story will continue with the next chapter.

And yeah, sorry, this is gonna be long...

...

Everywhere were trees, as the car wound its way up through the hills. Trees, the forest around her home, use to be a comfort to the the girl. They stood sentinel against the outside world, protecting her. Now they were shutting her in, trapping her. A maze through which she'd never be able to find her way out. She wished she could see open fields, a beach…the city. Anything but where she was.

After rounding a turn the car finally arrived at the hospital. It was a six-story, brick and concrete building with two large wings off its main building, which came out and almost looked as if they were spreading their arms, welcoming her home. The closer they got, however, she could see gargoyles, of all things, perched on the roof of the building, glaring down at her.

She hated the place, wanted to spit on it.

The car pulled into the cement car port, in front of the main entrance of the building. It shielded her from the drizzle outside, but it was still cold and damp around her as she tentatively climbed out of the car–she knew if she hadn't done so voluntarily the woman beside her with her pillbox hat and heels and authority would have pulled her out–violently, if necessary. She was practically dragged into it to begin with.

She was ushered inside. Already in the main lobby she saw patients, dressed in their drab hospital garb, most looking lost, some dead-eyed, and a few scared, like she doubtless looked.

"This way," the woman demanded, motioning to a hallway to the right. She traveled down that hallway until they came to a door at the end. In gold lettering on the frosted glass of the door, was printed: HARKWOOD, HEAD ADMINISTRATOR.

The woman opened the door and practically pushed the girl inside. She shut the door, leaving her alone with a tall, bald man behind a desk, wearing a dark suit. "You must be Ms. Cullen. Please sit."

He pulled out a manila file from a stack to his left and opened it up. He studied it a few moments, while the girl looked around. There photos of the hospital, its staff, and various events, from over the years. There were also the severed heads of hunting trophies, staring down at her from the wall behind the man, adding to the feeling she was being judged, sized up, measured. She was also vividly aware of a cuckoo clock on the wall to her right, tick-tocking the time away.

"Do you know why you're here?" the bald man asked gently.

"I don't belong here," the girl said quietly, shaking her head.

The man didn't say anything at first. He looked over the file for another minute.

"I don't know that your history would support that statement."

"What history."

The bald man looked down. "Falling grades, poor attendance, trespassing, vandalism, underage drinking–"

The girl laughed, raised her eyebrows. "Sounds more like I belong in juvie rather than here."

She instantly regretted saying that. She didn't want to be in juvenile hall, either. Suddenly worried whether that remark would give this man ideas.

He said nothing at first. Just flipped to a different page in her file. "Depression, anxiety, delusional psychosis."

"That's all bullshit."

Harkwood looked up at her pointedly. "Is it?"

"I can't–"

"Are your parents dead, Ms. Cullen?"

She looked away sharply. Said not a word.

"You seem to disagree on that fact with some people."

She remained quiet.

Hardwood leaned forward. "You need to acknowledge the truth, Ms. Cullen."

"I just want to go home to my parents…" she muttered into her sweater.

"I don't think that's what you need at this time, Ms. Cullen."

She looked up, tears in her eyes. "Please."

Harkwood closed her file and intertwined his fingers as he leaned forward. "I think you will actually find your time here will help, Ms. Cullen. Help to make you better." He turned around and pushed one of several buttons on a panel behind him. A few minutes later, a middle-aged man with a buzz cut and dressed in an orderly uniform entered the office.

"Charles, if you could escort our new resident to the induction center, then to her quarters."

She wanted to scream, cry, lash out–anything to protest, to try and stop what was happening, but it felt so utterly hopeless at that point. She simply rose, shaking but silent, from her seat, and turned to follow Charles.

The "induction center" was in the basement in the opposite wing of the building, Charles explained.

"So, we got some time to get to know each other."

She looked down, away. Didn't say anything.

"What's your name?" he asked, genuinely curious and friendly-sounding.

"Jen–Jennifer."

Charles nodded. "That's a good name. Where do you come from–what town, I mean? Are you from Kentucky?"

Jennifer couldn't, didn't want to say anything. It would require remembering and sharing of herself, neither of which she wanted to do with this man, in this place.

"How old are you, by the way?"

Jennifer remained quiet.

"You look young…. What, 16, 17?"

Still nothing.

"Yeah…you look around 16."

Mercifully, they had reached their destination, a door that read "Patient Induction." Charles opened the door for her and motioned for her to enter, which she did, slowly. But to the girl's disappointment, he went in with her.

"Got a new one for ya. Jennifer Louise Cullen, date of birth xx/xx/xxxx" Charles told an older, graying woman behind a desk. Jennifer gave Charles a furtive, confused look after hearing her exact details recited aloud by the man.

The older woman stood up and rounded the desk. "My name is Dorothy, but you can call me Dottie." She reached out for Jennifer, but Jennifer didn't move.

The older woman eyed Charles. "I can take it from here."

Charles shrugged before leaving the room.

Dorothy sat back on the edge of her desk. She wore a plain shirt dress, her graying hair was set into a subtle bee-hive, eyes staring at the girl through old cat-eye glasses. She looked like many of Jennifer's teachers back home. There was an air of put-on niceness to this woman as well.

"Let's get you started."

Her regular clothes had been taken away, replaced by a drab uniform dress that all the female patients wore. She hated dresses. She said she was cold and was given a robe with no cinch belt.

She wasn't allowed to keep any of her photos, her jewelry, the one stuffed animal she had brought. It was all taken away and kept in a box "for safe keeping."

There had been some talk of cutting her hair. Since it was on the longer side, she or someone else could use it to hurt her. Jennifer was absolutely terrified of this.

_Not my hair._

Luckily, they had decided against it. She breathed a huge sigh of relief.

After she seemed sufficiently devoid of any character or personality, Jennifer was allowed to roam the hospital a bit, maybe meet some people in the recreation hall.

Jennifer didn't want to meet anyone. She was surrounded by people lost in their own world, angry, upset. Mentally unable to process the world around them. People who had had breakdowns, housewives who had talked back to their husbands one too many times, children with developmental problems. Screaming, crying.

She just wanted to go home.

Jennifer kept absolutely silent. Engaged with no one. She moved only when she had to. She thought that, maybe if she stayed very quiet and very still, no one would notice her. Maybe she would even disappear to them. Disappear even to herself.

Still, she would float quietly down the halls. It had also occurred to her that there may be some way to escape this place, to run away.

There had to be some sort of way out.

….

The boy stared down at the sheets of paper before him, the pencil moving in his fingers. He tapped the paper with the pencil, as his legs started to shake.

He didn't know what to write that would get his mother to come back.

He held the pencil between his fingers like he would a cigarette. He missed those. He had a way of getting his hands on some back home. There was no way in hell he would be allowed one here, unless he wanted to resort to some very unpleasant things.

He tried to focus on the letter he'd spent much of his recreation time today trying to write.

He'd written dozens of letters to his mother, since she'd just let someone from social services come and take him away, take him to this retched place. She had never answered. He wondered vaguely why he didn't just give up, but a larger part of him was loathe to even consider doing such a thing.

She would come back and get him, one of these days.

As he scribbled incoherent things onto one of the sheets, he heard a whistle and some mumbling from a corner of the room. He looked up to see what all the commotion was about.

At the far side of the recreation room, he spotted a girl. A girl about his age whom he didn't recognize. She had long, pretty hair, and wore the same standard issue clothes as the other female patients. Her eyes were fixed downward as she pursed her lips and didn't interact with any of the other patients who were trying to get her attention.

She walked slowly deeper into the large room, seemingly without purpose or destination. He kept watching her. Watched as she was headed straight for him.

The boy sat up straighter. Ran a hand through his dark hair to straighten it a bit.

She actually walked straight into his table.

She jumped back a little. "Sorry," she mumbled.

She finally looked up, and they locked eyes. He saw the most beautiful light blue irises he'd ever seen; she was surprised to see his deep green ones.

Neither was sure how many seconds passed before she looked away, mumbled something about not looking where she was going.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "Are you alright?"

She didn't answer. The girl seemed frozen in place. Her eyes darted around, but were still cast downward.

"Do–do you wanna sit?"

Her eyes shot back up to him. "Can I?"

"Of course," he was quick to reply. He pulled out a chair next to him. "Please sit."

Jennifer looked around, unsure for a second. She didn't trust anyone here, but someone her own age who so far seemed as kind and gentle as this boy did seem like the safest bet. "O-okay."

She sat down, but stayed silent.

"My name's Arthur. What's you name?" He held out his hand.

She took it. They shook hands shortly, more like two businessman after closing a deal, rather than new acquaintances.

"My…my name's Jennifer."

"That's a pretty name."

She looked away. "Thanks," she mumbled, barely audible. Maybe, probably, it was his imagination, but he thought he could see the faintest blush come across her face.

"Are you new here?"

"I guess…."

They sat quietly for a while. He realized he was staring at one point, so he returned to writing his letter.

He felt a little happier that she was there, this random girl he just met, sitting next to him and accompanying him. He started to write his letter in earnest.

"What are you doing?" she eventually asked.

Arthur set his pencil down. "Oh. Writing my mother. I write her a couple of times of month."

Jennifer suddenly looked very sad.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.

She turned away. "Nothing."

Jennifer sat with him all while he wrote out that entire letter, not saying or doing anything herself. Arthur wrote about what he had been doing lately, about whatever news he was aware of at the hospital, about his progress. He even included something at the very end about making a new friend.

Arthur folded the letter and slipped it inside an envelope. He licked the flap and sealed it shut, before addressing it to–as far he knew–what was his mother's most recent address in Gotham. 133st Street, in the Narrows. The same apartment he had been dragged away from.

"Do you wanna come with me to post it?"

The girl looked up. "Yes." She hadn't thought about their being able to send mail before. Maybe this was a possibility.

Arthur smiled widely. "Okay," he rose. "Let's go."

They left the recreation room. She traced their steps carefully, saving it to memory, but was disappointed when Arthur just lead them to Dorothy.

"Here, can you post this, Ms. Sherman?"

"Of course, Arthur."

"Have I gotten anything yet?" Arthur looked hopeful.

"No, I'm afraid not, Arthur."

"Oh…. Alright."

Arthur and Jennifer wandered off.

"I should probably go back to my room. You too, probably?"

Jennifer hesitated. "I–I'm not sure where it is…."

Arthur brightened. "I can help you find it! What number are you?"

"H8."

"I'm J8! I'm right nearby! I'll show you."

They headed for the main wing, where the staircase was, leading up to their floor. They passed nurses and orderlies, who took note of their presence but briefly. Jennifer thought she saw Charles at one point. It scared her enough she reached out for Arthur. "Hold my hand, please."

"Yeah," he took her hand. He wasn't sure he would have reached for it or even asked if he could if he had been given the choice. He was glad she seemed so forward.

They headed upstairs. They reached their floor, and strolled down the wing to their rooms. All the while holding hands.

"Here it is!" Arthur pointed at a door with "H8" stenciled at the top. "Just a couple down from mine." He smiled at her. "Looks like we're neighbors."

For the first time, he saw Jennifer smile, ever so slightly. "Looks like."

"Well…. I'll see you around?"

Jennifer looked around nervously. "Can I…when's dinner served?"

"Oh, around 5 usually."

"Can you find me and take me for dinner?" Jennifer didn't want to be alone, and this boy had been so nice, so warm. She felt she could trust him.

Arthur brightened. "Of course! I'll come get you then."

They entered their respective rooms. They were cold, rectangular spaces with a single, long bed against a corner. There was nothing else in the room except a toilet and sink.

It was a damn prison cell.

Jennifer's heart sank. Sank even further after she heard a lock slide into place in her door behind her. She rushed up to her door, but it was indeed locked tight. She banged her hand against it violently, over and over, but nothing happened. She slipped down to the floor and started crying.

At some point later she heard the bolt slide in the lock. She rose from her bed and approached the door. Reached out a shaky hand and turned the door's knob. It opened.

Jennifer rushed out. She took deep breaths, as if she had just been underwater for so long. She looked over and saw Arthur leaving his room.

"Hey! I found you!"

"Yeah," she sort of laughed. "That was quick."

He looked down. "Can I…." He reached out and suddenly captured her hand.

He was shocked when she didn't take it away. In fact, she she squeezed his hand.

"Where is the dining hall?"

….

Arthur and Jennifer grabbed trays and joined the line of people waiting to serve themselves food. They smiled awkwardly at each other a few times as the line moved along.

The food offerings that day were meatloaf or fish, as well as a few sides to choose from. The fist didn't look like fish, or anything edible, really, so few people took it. By the time they had slid along to the area with the main course offerings, only one meatloaf was left.

Arthur was ahead of Jennifer. He reached forward and snatched up the coveted meat dish, turned around, and plopped it onto Jennifer's tray.

She shook her head. "You don't have to do that." She went to pick it up, move it to his tray, but his hand came over hers.

"No, you have it."

Jennifer glanced up. "Maybe we can share it."

Arthur smiled. "I'd like that."

They actually had dessert. Something Jennifer wouldn't have guessed would be there. It was slices of blueberry or cherry pie. There weren't many of them left, either. Arthur again reached over and snatched up a slice of the cherry pie and placed it on Jennifer's tray. She didn't say anything. Just looked down and smiled.

They found an empty table in the corner of the dining hall and sat close to each other. They shared the slice of meatloaf like it was an ice cream sundae, as they shared some scant details about their lives. How old they were, what grade they would be in if they were in school, where they were from. Arthur had wanted to ask if she had someone she went around with back home, but he couldn't bring himself to ask it.

The food seemed fine, Jennifer thought. Funny, it was like she couldn't really taste it, though she could feel the texture of the meat, the green beans, and the potatoes with butter in her mouth.

Only the pie was left. Jennifer's favorite thing was to dump heaps of whipped cream onto any pie she had at home–or a melty chunk of cheddar, if it was a slice of apple pie–but such toppings weren't an option here. She sighed.

"Is something wrong?" Arthur looked at her concerned.

"Not really." She picked up his spoon and held it out to him. "Please share this with me too."

He waved her off. "Aw, you don't have to do that."

"Please. I'm not sure I could finish it on my own."

"Well…. Okay." They shared the pie as well.

It was back to everyone's room after dinner. Arthur and Jennifer ascended the stairs to their floor.

Charles was definitely there this time, descending the stairs as they were going up. Almost on instinct, Jennifer reached out and hugged Arthur to her. Without missing a beat, he slipped his arm around her. Held her close.

They reached their rooms.

"Will I–can I see you tomorrow?"

Jennifer smiled. "I hope so."

Arthur blushed this time. "Tomorrow they're having the patient talent show in the recreation hall. Me and a few of the other patients put on a show. I hope–if you want–you'll see my act?"

"Your act?"

"Yeah! I do this act, as a clown. My name is Carnival. I…try to be funny. Am…I think?"

"It sounds fun," Jennifer smiled weakly. She was tired. Didn't want to be alone in her room again.

"Well, I'll see you then, then." Arthur chuckled a bit.

Jennifer pursed her lips. She felt dread flood her body. She wanted to do anything other than retire to her room for the night. She felt anxiety paw at her like a bloodthirsty lion. She needed some form of comfort no one else could give in that moment. She looked at Arthur.

"Arthur, can you kiss me?"

Arthur's eyes went wide for a moment. "Uh, are you sure?"

"Yes. Please."

"Um, okay. No—yes—I want to."

They got up close. Both hesitated a moment before wrapping arms around each other. Their eyes flitted between each other's eyes and lips, unsure.

Jennifer was about to dive in, but Arthur beat her to the punch. His lips came down on hers suddenly, but almost just as quickly he drew back.

"Sorry. That probably wasn't very good."

"No…no it was. Do it again."

Arthur chuckled nervously. "Are, are you sure?"

Jennifer leaned in this time. Their lips met, stayed together longer, but eventually parted. The warmth was still there. She rested her head on his shoulder and he stroked her hair, slowly, over and over. Ventured to kiss her on her temple.

Sometime later, both eventually drew back. "I'll see you tomorrow, maybe?"

Jennifer rubbed her arms. "Yeah…." She stood up straighter. Nodded. "I will."

Arthur was about to draw away. "Hey," he said, reaching up a hand and touching her cheek, ghosting over her neck. She pursed her lips.

"Don't do that. Don't hide it. You have a beautiful smile."

….

Jennifer slept uneasily. It was cold in her room. Was there even heating in their rooms? In this building at all?

Someone slipped in a tray of food for her breakfast, but she ignored it. She was called for lunch, but she ignored that too. She didn't want to interact with anyone, or anything. Again, if she could stay very still….

But then she remembered what Arthur had said about the talent show down in the recreation hall. She rose from her bed. She found she was able to leave her room, able to find a clock and see she had some time. She was allowed to shower, make herself look as presentable as possible, given the circumstances. She headed downstairs.

….

Arthur had tried to not to think of her all night. Not like he thought of other women when he was alone at night in his room. A part of him certainly wanted to, but there was something so special about this girl who had been so forward with him, accepted him right away. Yet she also seemed so fragile, scared. He couldn't blame her on that front. He supposed he had gotten so used to being in a place like this, it didn't really bother him anymore. Not like that.

He'd also done his best to freshen up earlier morning. To look presentable. Kissable….

The staff trusted Arthur. He had given them no grief in the time he was there, had offered to help where he could. So we was allowed this privilege of dressing up and playing pretend for the others. It was one of his few joys.

He had just started his act when he spotted Jennifer entering the recreation hall. It relieved him but also also sent a thrill through his body that made him stutter, stand still for a moment. But he snapped back into character quickly.

Arthur was dressed in his oversized shoes, baggy pants, colorful shirt, vest, and jacket, and wore a green wig and clown make-up. It almost didn't look like him, Jennifer thought.

She found a seat in the front row. He did have an audience, though not a full one.

For the first part of his act, he was performing various gags with oversized and ridiculous props. It made her and the others laugh.

For the second half, he was performing magic tricks. He would exaggerate, act as surprised as the other person when it was their playing card, a stuffed bunny disappeared, two whole rings were joined….

He brought out a magic wand at one point. After a few flourishes, he pointed it at Jennifer. She looked around, unsure.

He stepped closer to her, moving the wand in circles as he kept it pointed at her. Suddenly Jennifer felt shy; she knew everyone's attention was suddenly on both of them. She looked down, turned away a bit.

She looked up when she heard Arthur gasp. She saw that the magic wand was now limp and curled over in his hand. Arthur himself was frowning in an exaggerated manner, rubbing a fisted hand against one of his eyes to imitate crying.

"Oh," she reached out for him. Like turning a light switch, suddenly Arthur's face was bright, smiling. A flick of the wrist and the wand also went back to being stick straight. Jennifer laughed uncertainly; how'd he do that?

Next thing she knew, with another flick of his wrist, Arthur had made a colorful bouquet of flowers sprout from the top of the wand.

He stepped a little bit closer. He held them out to her with one hand while holding his other arm against his chest and bowed.

Now Jennifer felt even more self-conscious, aware of all the eyes on the both of them. But she was also flattered, giddy.

She took the flowers. "Thank you," she said to him quietly. She could feel her cheeks were hot.

….

"How did you like the show?" Arthur asked Jennifer later when they met for dinner.

"I liked it," she smiled. "I liked a lot."

Arthur grinned. Looked down, pride ghosting across his soft features. He fiddled with the tray in his hands. "I'm happy to hear you enjoyed it."

After they had picked their food and found a table, Jennifer noticed Arthur was shaking, his mouth opening occasionally, lips quivering slightly, about ready to say something, but never actually saying something.

"Is something wrong, Arthur?"

"I just wondered…." His shoulders slumped. Exhaled quickly before asking, "Would you be my girlfriend?"

A smile formed on Jennifer's face. She nodded. "I'd like to. But…only if you'll be my boyfriend."

Arthur's face broke out into a smile, too. "I'd like to, too."

….

After that, every meal that could be had in the dinning hall was shared. When the patients were allowed outside for brief periods, they would venture out together. Would huddle close in the recreation hall, playing cards, drawing, writing, telling each other jokes. Arthur's presence was enough to make Jennifer forget why she was there, and vice versa.

Arthur had actually forgotten to write his mother. He paused when he considered that, but only for a moment or two, before carrying on with his day.

One day, Arthur asked, "Jenny, why did they make you come here?"

She was quiet for a moment. A somber look came over her face. "They told me my parents died." Arthur didn't ask anything else.

Arthur and Jennifer were inseparable, and it made the world more bearable.

For the most part. There were moments they had to be apart. At night, of course. They each also had a psychiatrist they had to see regularly. Arthur was seeing his one day, and Jennifer didn't have much to do besides wander around the place a bit.

She ascended a floor higher than theirs. She was curious; she traveled down unfamiliar corridors and through doorways she probably shouldn't be traversing. She found herself looking out a window set in a locked door–one of dozens that lined one side of this hallway–that had chicken wire covering all of it on the other side. She could see through the wire, out onto a corridor with wide openings built into the brick and cement exterior wall. She could recall hearing someone say that this place had been a tuberculosis hospital years ago. Patients would be brought into "open air" areas of the hospital, the idea being that the fresh air would help fend off the infectious disease assailing their lungs. This must have been one of those areas.

"What are you lookin' at there?" a sickeningly familiar voice said from behind Jennifer. She turned slowly.

"Nothing. I need to go." She tried to pass Charles, but he stuck out a hand, blocking her path.

"Now wait a second there. We haven't really had a chance to talk much since you first got here. I figure we could have a nice chat?"

Jennifer could feel her body and brain seize up in fear. She said nothing.

Charles got a bit closer. "What, cat caught your tongue?"

He reached out and pinched a piece of her hair between his fingers. "Quite soft."

He was subtly getting closer and closer. Some part of Jennifer's conscious was screaming–run away, yell, something–but the only thing her mind and body could manage at that point was to close down, ignore. Wait for the danger to pass.

But he wasn't going to just pass.

Charles moved his hand to her shoulder, let it slide heavily down her arm. "You know, certain things can be easier for you, if you're a bit more…amenable, ya know?"

A thumb brushed up against her left breast. A scream was building up deep down. Before it could escape, two nurses could he heard chatting, their voices growing quickly louder. As they rounded the corner into the area Jennifer and Charles were, Jennifer shoved past Charles, saying nothing. When she was far enough away, she ran.

She hid in the common area. A public place, with other people, seemed like the best protection at that moment. She sat in a chair in a far corner of the large room, folded her legs up against her, and bowed her head, blocking everything out.

She felt a tap on her shoulder some uncounted moments later and jumped.

"Hey, it's just me. Arthur. What's wrong?"

All Jennifer could do was shake her head, tremble in her seat.

Arthur looked around. He bent close to her and whispered in her ear. "Do you want to go to the Space?"

The "Space" was a storage closet on the basement floor that looked hardly ever used. Arthur had found it before Jennifer came to the hospital. Said he would hide there occasionally, when he really couldn't handle any more of the drugs, when he most needed to escape the doctors and nurses and other patients and his own existence in this rotten place. Where he could block everything out. He was careful not to use it too often; he didn't want it to be found.

It was only for the most bad times. Jennifer understood this.

"Yes," Jennifer croaked out.

Even safely inside the storage closet, sitting in darkness, Jennifer still couldn't utter what had happened. Not for some minutes. When it finally spilled out, it was met with what felt like an eternal silence.

"Arthur?" she pleaded.

"I heard, Jenny. I heard you."

After a few moments, she felt his arms come around her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there."

Somehow, they were together even more often after that. Arthur watched over her like a hawk. After Jennifer was able to covertly point out Charles to him, so he knew which orderly this was, he was also constantly watching for the man. Jennifer planned to never be by herself unless she absolutely had to; Arthur urged her to hide in their Space if she needed to.

One day, when they were let outside and were far enough from any of the staff keeping watch over them, he moved close to Jennifer. "One of these days, I'm going to get us both out of here," he whispered into her ear. She turned to him, was about to say something. Something touching on how that could be done, when. But instead she just locked eyes with him and nodded slightly.

….

She had a front row seat to all his performances. Technically, it was the same performance, over and over, but she never tired of it. It always ended with Arthur taking out that wand, making the flowers appear, gifting them to her. Bowing. She played along more, each time. Didn't care if the other patients saw as their feelings toward one another were more and more obvious.

One night, after one of those performances–where he winked at her for the first time, to her surprise–and shortly after they ate dinner, he rose from their table abruptly. "I need to do something. I'll see you tonight, shortly before bed."

"Uh, okay?" He hadn't mentioned anything earlier. Now Jennifer was a bit scared. She hadn't really realized it, but she had become dependent on his presence, feeling like he protected her. A part of her sort of hated realizing that, feeling that way, but an overriding, larger part of her was just more concerned that she didn't have it–have him–at present.

She carefully made her way back to her room when it was time for patients to retire to their rooms for the evenings. She reached her room, but Arthur was nowhere in sight.

Jennifer sighed uneasily. She hated suddenly not knowing where Arthur was.

She entered her room. Heard the lock slide in the door.

"Jenny?"

She jumped at hearing her own name. She looked around. "Who's there?

"It's me," Arthur said, sliding out from underneath her bed.

Jennifer rushed up to him. "Arthur, you can't be in here!" she whispered-hissed to him.

"Do you not want me in here?" He said as got up off the floor, then sat down on the side of her bed.

"I…." Jennifer looked back at the door.

"It's locked, so I can't leave even if you wanted me to."

Jennifer looked back at Arthur. "True," she conceded quietly. "But what…."

Arthur patted the bed beside him.

Jennifer tilted her head, narrowed her eyes. "I donno…."

"I won't do anything to hurt you."

Jennifer took a deep breath, looked around before joining Arthur on the bed. She felt so nervous to have him so close. On her bed. She looked over at him. He was watching her very carefully. Their eyes explored, questioned.

"I can sleep on the floor, if it would make you more comfortable." He chuckled dryly, cynically. "It would be far from the first time for me."

Jennifer shook her head. "Don't do that. It would be painful. Besides," she turned to face him more, "I want you up here."

Arthur nodded. He rose from the bed, so she could move the blankets back. The single beds in these rooms weren't really made for two people, but they made it work. Largely by being so close their bodies were flush against each other, arms around one another, breath intermingling.

He placed a light kiss on her forehead, before hugging her to him and starting to stroke her hair. Jennifer felt calm at first. The first time ever while being in that room. After a while, though, she felt a tension build up inside her. Warm all over.

Arthur felt the same. He looked into her eyes.

His hand moved to caress her cheek, then down to palm her neck. He heard her moan as she closed her eyes.

His hand moved slightly lower. Jennifer opened her eyes.

"Do you…." she started.

"I want to. All the time."

"I want you to, too."

Their lips came together, and didn't part for a long time. He moved over her. "Are you sure?"

Jennifer nodded fervently. His mouth moved down to her neck, as her hand reached up and ran through his shorter hair, grasped some of it. Wasn't it longer once?

….

Jennifer felt like everyone knew, the next day as they walked around together. Even though there was no way anyone could have known, even their immediate neighbors; they had been so quiet. Arthur had been able to slip out of her room that morning with no one noticing. But she felt it, it had hurt even still the next day. Not that she regretted it one iota.

Arthur seemed happier, with a spring in his step. He kissed her repeatedly, not caring who saw.

Including Charles.

Later in the day, a nurse came up to Arthur. "Arthur Fleck? We have a phone call for you from the main office. It's your mother."

Arthur's eyes went wide. "Re–really?"

"Yes. Come with me."

Jennifer tried to join them, but the nurse gave her a look. "Just Arthur. He'll be back."

Arthur looked at her. _I'll be back in no time_.

She nodded, still unsure. Watched as Arthur walked away. Jennifer stayed in the main hall for a bit, wondering what to do in the mean time. There were some patients around, but no staff. She was about to head for the recreation hall, when she felt a strong hand grasp her arm.

"Come with me," Charles growled. He dragged her into a service elevator she'd never seen before. Pushed the button for the floor where she'd last encountered him.

He turned to her. "You think you can just go around with that little shit boyfriend of yours and not get noticed? Not have everyone notice you? Especially me?"

Jennifer said nothing; she had gone frozen again. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening at all.

The elevator dinged when it reached the called-for floor. The doors slid open and Charles grabbed Jennifer by the arm again, pulled her along.

They weren't running into any other people, a part of Jennifer observed curiously. Wouldn't there be somebody?

He dragged her to that same hallway, with the dozens of doors with windows that looked out onto the open corridor. Charles yanked open one of the doors, and shoved away the chicken wire that had been installed over it. He dragged her outside into the open air corridor.

"You were so curious about this place. I'll give you something so you never forget it."

He kissed her, tried to yank her clothes off of her, and something in Jennifer snapped.

She shoved him back, with a force she didn't know she had. She actually rushed him, kick and hit him. But he was able to grab both of her wrists and shove her back against a brick wall.

Jennifer felt a dull pain as her head hit the brick. Charles used his body to keep her pinned. One hand held both of her wrists, while the other wrapped around her throat.

Jennifer thought, knew, after so much denial, that she was going to die. Probably after being violated. She could feel herself starting to pass out of consciousness.

She was so out of it she couldn't hear the breaking glass. Could barely register when a shard of glass was shoved into Charles' throat, causing his eyes to go wide and his grip on Jennifer to loosen, fall away. He stumbled backwards.

The next thing Jennifer knew, Arthur was coming at Charles, stabbing him with another piece of glass, repeatedly, before shoving him forward, over the concrete sill of one of those wide openings in the exterior brick wall, and pushing him over.

Jennifer was fully aware at that point. She heard the sickening thud as Charles' body hit the muddy ground below. She noticed the rain for the first time then. It was pouring down rain outside.

She looked at Arthur, who had some blood on his hands, spattered across his clothes and face. He looked down at himself, but then looked at her.

They locked eyes. Neither flinched when lightening flashed and almost simultaneously thunder boomed around them.

Something unspoken passed between them, before they slowly moved toward one another.

Then it all stopped.

…..

…..

The rain was pouring down outside. Jennifer could hear it and the wind thrash against her apartment windows, as well as the occasional boom of thunder.

She could smell cigarettes. Saw faintly as a cloud of smoke rose up before her, dissipating into the air.

"You awake?"

"Yeah. You too?"

"Yeah."

She rolled over. She saw Arthur, slightly propped up by some of her pillows, taking a drag in the dark of her bedroom.

She moved close to him. Pressed her naked body to his naked body. He wrapped an arm around her. He finished his cigarette, stubbed it out, before turning back and settling into bed, both arms now wrapped Jennifer.

He kissed her forehead. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Somehow, in the sleepy haziness of the pre-dawn morning, that felt safe to admit for both of them.

….

**A/N 2**: I'll leave it up to you to decide whose dream that was….


	20. Chapter 20

**Warnings**: Some allusions to adult-y things. Arthur injured–again. Angst.

**A/N**: We are now back to the main story/narrative with this one.

That Sunday was spent largely in bed, but it was back to the grind on Monday. The grind that turned even the most well-intentioned to dust.

Jennifer had put in for some time off. Her boss said he would "consider it." Nothing else had been brought up all day.

When she got a chance later in the day, she called Arthur. "Hey there."

"Hi there Princess," that gentle, somewhat scratchy voice spoke over the phone.

Some part of her wanted to turn her nose up at that pet name, but a bigger part of her felt her insides turn to warm honey at hearing it. She had clearly gone soft, and yet she didn't mind.

"Hi there yourself, handsome."

Arthur smiled. The Laugh wanted to come up, but he chased it away, coughed.

"Watchya doin'?"

She sighed. "Oh, the usual. I should catch the 5:42 again tonight…."

"I'll be there."

….  
Arthur was true to his word.

He took her arm. They headed up the stairs to the main level, passing by other Gothamites, a few other couples.

Jennifer didn't say anything for a little while, she was just too tired.

"Have you heard anything about your mother?"

Arthur looked glum, grim, as a lit cigarette sat perched on his lip. "I called. Nothing."

She was just about to ask about his job hunt, but that topic seemed even more depressing or possibly upsetting.

"Did you feed Paulie?"

"Oh yeah."

"He really loves you, you know."

Arthur smiled. "He likes me because I feed him," he responded, still talking around his cigarette.

She went on: "You didn't feel him sleeping curled up on your chest a lot of last night? You two made quite the pair. I almost got jealous."

Arthur smirked, shook his head, as he finally withdrew the cigarette. "Don't think you have anything to worry about."

Something briefly lurched in the pit of her stomach, but she ignored it.

….  
Jennifer was granted that Wednesday off, somewhat to her surprise. They each had errands that needed to be done so they did their best to combine them that morning.

Once those were out of the way, they settled in back at his apartment. It felt eerily quiet and still with Penny not there, even though she wasn't much of a presence to begin with. Arthur seemed a bit unsure when Jennifer asked if she could turn on the TV, but ultimately said okay.

There was a three foot stack of newspapers on his coffee table, and another, older one sat in his kitchen.

"Jenny, do you ever think I'll ever work again?" he asked her quietly at one point.

She felt dread quickly fill her. She didn't want to answer that. She felt she saw things realistically, usually…but she knew she erred on the side of cynical, jaded.

There were gaps in her knowledge of her boyfriend. Things that just hadn't come up. Had he even graduated from high school? Did he have any other recent skills, besides making people smile?

She said the only thing she knew to say: "I don't know."

"'I don't know'?!" Arthur scoffed.

That caught her off guard. "Well I…don't? I'm not sure what's going to happen–"

Arthur got up off his couch quickly, went over to the small table in the corner to retrieve a cigarette. He lit it, took a deep drag.

Jennifer rose from the couch. "I don't know what you want me to say," she shrugged.

Arthur shook his head, took another drag. "Something encouraging, perhaps?"

"Arthur, I'm not the cheery, always-smiling-girlfriend type and you know that."

"Yeah…." He turned around and took yet another drag as he eyed her with a hard look.

She shook her head this time. "Maybe I should go…." She started to walk toward the front door, but she stopped cold when she heard the Laugh.

She turned around to see Arthur laughing, pain twisting his face, his arms wrapped himself, trying to hold it back, control it.

Jennifer walked up to him hesitantly. Reached out a hand to touch his arm gently. Something in him jolted right before the Laugh started to subside.

He was breathing unsteadily as she took him into her arms. He hugged her back tightly.

"I'm just so tired…of trying." His voice broke. She stoked his hair, squeezed him closer. "It's okay, it's okay," she whispered over and over.

"Was late on the rent this month," Arthur admitted. "Not late, technically. Haven't paid. I'm surprised just in the time we've been here the phone hasn't gone off at least a few times. Landlord keeps calling."

She had wondered about that, but it was yet another thing she hadn't been brave enough to inquire about.

"I told him the first time that my mother was in the hospital, but he just laughed at that. 'She's not the one making the money over there.' I didn't know what to say."

Jennifer didn't know what to say, either. She just continued to hold him. She could feel his body quake, and felt tears fall into her hair.

Sometime later, they both drew back. She was about to offer some financial assistance again, but somehow she knew that wouldn't go over well. It also occurred to her that she couldn't really afford to pay the rent for two apartments. Maybe one month, but….

A simultaneously better and worse idea occurred to her. "Maybe…you could…move in with me?"

Arthur studied her face. A dry chuckle escaped from him as he shook his head.

"What?"

"You look like someone just told you that you're about to have a root canal."

Shit.

"Sorry." She shook her head, pursed her lips as she looked away. "I'm just, used to being alone and–"

Arthur held up a hand. "It's okay. I don't think it would work, once Penny comes back from the hospital. She'd have to shack up with Paulie, or she'd have to take your bed and the three of us would have to take your couch."

They both broke into smiles and some natural, comfortable laughter. It broke up and dissipated some of the tension in the air.

Arthur took a deep breath. "I'll just keep trying, I guess."

Jennifer also took a deep, steadying breath. She glanced over at the papers, rushed over to them and picked up the first one off the three foot stack. Flipping through it, something in the society pages caught her eye. "Arthur, come here."

Arthur stepped up to her. "What is it?"

"Look, it says here Thomas Wayne's going to be at this charity gala this Saturday at Wayne Hall, at this screening of Charlie Chaplin's Modern Times."

They both looked at each other and smiled.

"That might just work," Arthur admitted.

….

He met her at her train every day that week, even the later ones. They were mostly quiet on the walks home.

"How is this boyfriend of yours? Ya know, I'm starting to shop for Christmas and I wondered, ya know, if we should include him in your Christmas package we send? You fixin' to come down this year, maybe? Think you might bring him? Is he allergic to anything?…" Jennifer kind of regretted ever mentioning anything to one of the few cousins she still spoke to on any regular basis back home.

The holidays–the family ones: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and to a lesser extent New Year's–felt like a broken concept to her, particularly since Grams died. The idea of exchanging mostly meaningless gifts that would be thrown out or given away within a few weeks and eating rich food to oblivion and smiling through her family's bullshit all made her a little sick.

She had been just fine observing them on her own–just her and Paulie. She had been happy putting up some modest decorations in her Gotham apartment; cooking a small roast for her and her fur baby to enjoy; downing some hot chocolate while watching whatever old holiday movies and specials she wanted; gifting one or two small, nice things to her friends; saying hi and maybe giving her neighbors cards, but not really needing any other human interaction.

Then along came Arthur.

They hadn't discussed this topic much, but she got the impression his holidays as a child were threadbare, empty. Everyone deserved to feel the magic of the holidays at some point in their lives; Jennifer had been fortunate to know that feeling when she was younger.

She wanted to give him that magic now. She wanted to bring him in to share her traditions, however small.

Jennifer felt relatively safe at that point saying things to her cousin or thinking about holidays spent together, even though such actions in the past often seemed to have the unfortunate result of jinxing the relationship. It felt as if their relationship had reached a comfortable plateau, all things considered. They didn't talk as much; just some casual chatter, occasional stories, jokes. She let him vent when he needed to, which wasn't too often. If he needed to talk, he'd talk. She didn't push when he didn't want to. She didn't push when he'd say he needed air and would step out for a bit. She just let things…be as they were.

Some things were changing, though. He was becoming so much more attentive, trying and offering in whatever way he could to do anything that would make life easier, however small. He physically clung to her more, whenever they were together. Arms around her as she made dinner. Always hand-in-hand when walking around the city. Huddled close to her when she were sitting in bed reading or on the couch watching TV. She didn't mind these changes at all.

In the dark of the night, he sought her out more and more. Sometimes even in the bright of day. One particularly vigorous bout standing up against her poor old kitchen fridge left her pretty sore for the better part of a day. She hadn't mind these changes at all, either.

….

It was very subtle, very gradual, but he felt the difference.

He was off most of his meds now. Just scraps left to rattle here and there in their orange bottles, like depressing maracas. Eventually he'd forgotten to take even the remnants, though.

It was freeing in a way, not having to live by the arms of a clock. Not just in terms of unemployment, but also those damn pills. A carefully laid out schedule for swallowing each one, now gone.

Mentally, it was more of a toss up. To an extent it felt as if this gauze that had been wrapped tightly around him had been peeled away. He was freer, more able to move around. He could see clearer now. But it exposed raw wounds to the harsh air, his eyes to blinding light. It wasn't as comforting as having the bandages wrapped around and around, held tight, secure. It was so much freer, but so much more uncertain, terrifying.

He wasn't entirely sure he hated it.

He didn't tell her. He didn't want her to worry. Jennifer had so much stress from work and taking care of him…. His dumping all this on her would just make himself even more of a burden. She deserved all the happiness and love in the world. He didn't want to impose himself on her at all.

….

Arthur dressed in the only good clothes he had–which were basically the newest of his regular clothes–that Saturday evening as he prepared to head to Wayne Hall.

"Do you know how you're going to get in?"

Arthur shrugged. "Wing it, I guess. Figure out some way in."

She looked at him, brushed some hair from his face. "Good luck."

He kissed the corner of her mouth. "Thanks." She could tell he was nervous. She wished she could have gone with him, but he said he wanted, needed, to do this on his own.

"I'll be here, waiting."

Jennifer spent the rest of the evening waiting anxiously at home. Hoping and praying that the night went well for Arthur. She switched to a local channel who covered a protest happening outside the Wayne Hall charity benefit, which only added to her worry.

She had fallen asleep at one point on the couch. A slow, steady pounding woke her from her sleep. "What the…." Groggily, she rose from her couch and approached her door.

She opened the door to see Arthur there, facing away from her.

"Arthur….?"

He turned and she gasped at seeing his nose bloodied, maybe broken.

She pulled him in quickly. Made him sit down at her dining table before going to retrieve an ice pack and a damp wash cloth.

Jennifer inspected the damage visually. "How did this happen?"

He didn't answer right away, which was fine. She gave him time, air. As she cleaned away the blood with the washcloth dampened with warm water, she could see he was holding back tears, sobs really.

When his face was clean, she picked up the ice pack and applied it carefully to his battered nose. He hissed but didn't try to remove it or swat her away.

She shook her head. "You get hurt more often than my punk friends who deliberately try to injure themselves."

A single, dry laugh. Jennifer braced herself–_why did I have to say anything?_ she thought, cursing herself–but nothing else came.

She took one of Arthur's hands and led it to this his face. "Hold on to this." Arthur did as instructed for a few minutes, but eventually he took off the ice pack, dropped it onto the table.

"He told me I was adopted."

Jennifer was confused, not expecting to hear that. "What?"

Arthur leaned forward, resting his elbows onto his knees. "I found him in the restroom. He said, "'I'm not your dad, and you're adopted.' I just wanted a hug, to be acknowledged. Just…." Arthur ran his hand over his face.

Adopted? She weighed that possibility. Had Penny been married once? Jennifer always had the impression she never had been. And it would have been impossible for a single woman, of little means and questionable stability, to have adopted a child back in the early 1950s.

She looked at Arthur. He shared some traits with Penny, arguably, but there wasn't an overwhelming resemblance. Then again, did he really look like Thomas Wayne, either?

Jennifer's head was swimming. She rose from her seat quickly. Paced the room a bit. She didn't entirely have all her reasons lined neatly up, but she was pretty sure: "That's bullshit, Arthur."

Arthur didn't say anything. Just glared down at the ground.

Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. She stopped pacing and turned around. "Arthur, who hit you?"

When she first saw him, it struck her that the damage was probably caused by a body guard, or maybe Arthur got into a tussle with one or more of the protesters outside the event.

The Laughed edged its way toward the surface. "Who do you think–ha, HA–" It burst forth with full force. She felt sick to her stomach, as anger and horror bubbled up in her.

She held out a hand to him. "Arthur…."

He rose quickly. Without saying anything, he rushed to her door, flung it open, and left.


	21. Chapter 21

**Warnings**: This another heavy one. Alcohol use. Allusions to suicide. Angst out the wazoo.

**A/N**: None.

...

Jennifer walked tentatively to his front door. She knocked. Knocked again. No answer.

She banged on the door this time. She considered the possibility he went somewhere else, though she could have sworn she heard his door slam minutes ago, after he left her apartment. Worry clawed at her mind. BANG BANG BANG. "Arthur, please let me in," she pleaded.

She swore she saw the door move, shift in its frame, but it didn't open. "Please, Jenny, I just need be alone."

Jennifer drew back. "Okay." She took a deep breath. "I'm here, if you need me." She was about to leave, but before she did, she moved closer to the door, whispered to it, "I love you."

Arthur, on the other side, did hear her. He caressed the wood of the door where he thought her face might be. He felt like a fool and an idiot; not someone deserving of her attention, much less her love and affection.

Whether or not the most powerful man in all of Gotham was actually his dad, he had to be kidding himself if he thought he'd accept him. Him. Arthur Fleck. Or whoever he really was. Some nothing that didn't deserve anyone's love. Who could never really give any back. Not really.

Arthur retreated into his kitchen. Stared at nothing as he tried to think of nothing. Tried to make his mind a total blank. Tried to silence the voices in his head. But they just came from outside instead…. His phone rang. His landlord a couple of times. Then the police.

Wasn't it just the other day when he was on top of the world? With Jennifer, in the donut shop, having just accomplished a huge milestone of his first real performance on stage, the whole world celebrating him, his girl by his side...

Maybe this was the comeuppance. The inevitable. The other shoe to drop.

He opened his fridge. He tore out the rotten food and the ice trays and the empty containers and the shelves and, when there was enough room, he crawled inside. He shut the door. He was disappointed to find that the door opened easily. He always thought these things couldn't be opened from the inside. Oh well; what was one more disappointment. He stayed inside the blank, cold space until he was one the verge of passing out. He let his mind fall on whatever as the cold slowed everything to a crawl.

Jennifer had retreated to her apartment. She sunk down on her couch, held her head in her hands. She would cry, if she wasn't so angry. She never wanted someone to suffer like she wanted that fucking prick Thomas Wayne to suffer, after knowing what he did. She had had high hopes at one point, that maybe he'd turn out to be the father figure Arthur always needed. Maybe eventually the one she was lacking. Just…somebody, some source of strength and stability. An Adult who could come into their lives where the two of them, not much more than a couple of lost children, were just wandering aimlessly. Jennifer didn't feel like she could be the rock for both of them much longer.

Her eyes moved up to her liquor cabinet. She moved on instinct, getting up and walking up to it. She unlocked it swiftly and pulled out some Wild Turkey. Sanity and sense be damned.

….

Jennifer woke up with a start. She looked around. It was sunny in the room. She struggled to focus her vision enough to read her wall clock: 11:11 AM.

She groaned. Couldn't remember the last time she'd gone on a bender like she had last night. It was definitely before she met Arthur.

Art.

She got up to head out the door and for his apartment, but the hammer beating at her skull caused her to fall back onto the couch. She groaned even louder. Geeze, was she not only going soft, but also not able to handle her liquor anymore, either? She rubbed the heel of her palm hard against her forehead a few times before taking a deep breath.

Jennifer made herself some coffee and toast. Arthur had never seen her hung over, but she figured somehow he probably knew the signs. She didn't want him to see her like that.

After taking a shower and spending some time to make herself appear human again, she left her bathroom. She jumped when she saw Arthur sitting on her couch.

"Shit–Art–what–what are doing here?"

He struggled to put on a smile. "I can leave."

She grasped at her chest, where it felt like her heart was about to break free. "No, no, don't. You just scared me. Didn't expect to see you there."

He glanced down. "I'm not that horrible to look at, am I?"

Jennifer narrowed her eyes. "…No? Of course not." She did take a moment to really look him over in that moment. He had also showered, changed, and dragged a comb through his hair at some point since she last saw him. All a good sign. "I was just about to go over and see you. I didn't feel too well this morning. Allergies again I guess. Maybe a cold for real this time." She even coughed a couple of times for added effect as she headed into her kitchen.

"You have some interesting choices for cough syrup," Arthur observed quietly. She looked over to see he was staring straight at the bottles of Wild Turkey, Grey Goose, and Guinness that she downed last night and early this morning, just sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

She felt like a total idiot.

She rushed in and scooped up the bottles, taking them back to the kitchen, where she hid them and other, older bottles in the cupboard area beneath her sink. She felt shame prick her conscience as she did so.

She turned around to see Arthur standing in the open archway. "Those are because of me, aren't they?"

Jennifer turned away. Pursed her lips until they hurt. "A bit, to be honest. But at the end of the day it's my choice."

Arthur just nodded. She could hear his breathing change, before he suddenly stepped up to her and pulled her into a tight embrace. But his body was still and his arms moving gently over her as as sobs started to rack her body this time.

"Do you want me to leave? Leave you alone? I just seem to cause you a lot of pain."

Jennifer pulled back. "No. Never. Don't ever think any of that." She wiped the tears from her face. "I'm just stressed."

"From taking care of me," Arthur added. He pulled away. "From having to deal with me at all."

"Arthur," she called out as he was moving to leave. "Whatever you think or feel…please just believe me when I say I need you just as much. You're…all I have, frankly." She laughed. Not meanly; not in amusement; maybe in some disbelief at being so alone, or at having found anyone at all; but mostly out of worn and frayed nerves and not knowing what else to do.

Arthur nodded once. "Okay."

….

They spent the rest of that day together, but between the two of them there was only enough energy and enthusiasm to eat, watch TV, and sleep.

"Are you sure you'll be okay while I'm gone?" Jennifer asked just before she was about to leave for work the next morning.

He offered a small smile. "I'll be fine." It wasn't entirely enough to convince her, but she'd have to settle for it.

To her confusion but pleasant surprise, when Jennifer called to check in late that afternoon, Arthur sounded up, cheerful. "Hey! I was just thinking of you."

That cheery attitude was still there when he picked her up from the train. He chatted her up about many inconsequential things. She wondered what prompted the change, but more than that she was just sort of grateful for it, so she didn't ask.

Arthur had wanted to tell her the news at one point. How that woman from the Murray Franklin show had called him and asked if he wanted to guest on the show next Thursday. Particularly when she had first called, and he had trouble believing any of it was real. In his mind, he had told a version of Jennifer, and "Jennifer" had not been happy with the news.

"Are you an idiot? You know he's just inviting you on there to make fun of you, right? You're only 'popular' because everyone's laughing at your act, at how pitiful it is," "Jennifer" said, before taking a long drag on a cigarette.

"You're right. You're always right…." Arthur paced around his living room. He stopped. "But maybe…it's a chance. It's my chance to make a mark."

….

The next evening, Arthur was a bit more subdued again. Somewhat anxious, particularly the closer they got to the apartment complex.

"Something wrong?"

"Could you help me with something? If you're not too tired?"

"Of course. What is it?"

Later, after Jennifer changed clothes and made some dinner for both of them, he opened up his apartment. It struck her the cigarette smoke smelled even stronger in there than it had in the past, but maybe it was the effect on her nose of not having been in the apartment for several days. The other thing she noticed right away was a folding screen blocking the entrance to the kitchen. Kind of odd, but she ignored it for the time being, particularly after seeing how torn up his living room was already.

"I emptied out both these cabinets. The drawers in the coffee table. That pile of papers and those boxes over there," he motioned toward the area next to the TV, "the drawers in that little side table. Nothing," he sighed.

"There has to be something. Adoption papers. Medical records. Your birth certificate at least." Jennifer looked around. "It doesn't exactly look like your mom throws away a lot of stuff."

Arthur sat on the edge of his coffee table, on the smidgen of space not covered in papers. "Any ideas?" he asked, surveying the mess around him.

She gave it some thought, looked around.

"A woman's most important possessions will always be close at hand," she said, quoting her grandmother.

Before Arthur could say anything, she crossed the living room and entered Penny's room. Arthur followed. She looked around the bedroom. She had plenty of contenders, but for some reason she had a feeling….

She lowered herself near the most slept-in side of the bed, so she rested on her folded legs. She took a deep breath as her brain was working. She looked inside the beside table drawers. Nothing. No, that would have been too easy. She checked behind the table, looked under the bed, even lifted up the mattress a bit.

It occurred to her. She pulled the bottom drawer of the bedside table all the way out, lifting it off its tracks so she could remove it completely.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked from behind her. Jennifer didn't answer. Just placed the drawer to the side as she spotted what she thought she was looking for. She reached into the space that was beneath the bottom drawer and pulled out a worn, brown folding file. She turned and handed it to Arthur.

He took it, before plopping down on the side of Penny's bed. She rose from the ground and sat down beside him. He unwrapped the string figure 8'd around two buttons on the front, before folding back the top of it. They both peered in.

Most of the sleeves contained letters. A couple dozen yellowing sheets covered with faded lettering. "To my dearest Thomas." Seemingly in Penny's hand, though the handwriting seemed more rushed or sloppy, even though she would have been younger when they were written. Jennifer wondered aloud whether these were drafts of letters, or were simply never sent, if Penny still had them.

So much of their content was love-sick drivel, but there were references to Arthur in a couple of them. One seemingly written when was pregnant with him: "I understand your needing to stay away, but I've never been more frightened. I feel sick so much…." Another after he was born: "Please don't think less of me for this, please don't think this is me going against our agreement, but I haven't been able to find work and I've barely been been able to keep our son fed. I don't know who else to turn to…."

There was one letter that was definitely unfinished; it stopped mid-sentence. It started: "Why did you put me here? I don't belong here in Arkham of all places. I know it was you–please don't deny the truth. What could I have done wrong.…"

Jennifer and Arthur exchanged looks. It wasn't the weightiest evidence. It could have been fabricated nonsense. But it was something–something more than he had before.

The only other written material in the file was what looked like a card from a bouquet of flowers. There had been some sort of writing on it at one point, but the card was too water damaged to make out a name or handwriting or anything consequential.

The rest of folder the contained a broken wrist watch, some ribbon, and a handful of snapshots of Penny when she was younger.

Arthur let out an exasperated breath as his shoulders slumped.

"Hold on," Jennifer said, before taking the several photos out of Arthur's hand. She checked the back of each one; the fourth one had something. "Arthur." She handed the photo back to him.

"'Love that smile.' TW." Arthur looked at Jennifer quickly.

She shook her head as she smirked. "That doesn't look like her handwriting."

Arthur looked back down at the photo. Stared at it silently for a moment or two. Jennifer returned to studying the other photos. She noticed for the first time that one photo was actually two stuck together. Very carefully, she separated the two photos, trying and mostly succeeding in not doing any damage to the second one. It was a baby boy, sitting in a chair, looking confused at the camera. His hair was lighter…. She wondered if this could have been another child, but upon closer inspection, she spotted the same scar on the upper lip, and she knew who it was.

She felt a softness and sadness looking at the baby boy sitting in a chair in his onesie.

"You were cute," Jennifer said, as she handed him the baby photo.

He took it. His look mirrored the child's in the photo at first. "This is me?"

Jennifer leaned in close. "Looks like."

A smile spread over this face. "I–I never saw this before. I've never seen any…."

She looked at him, questioning. "Art, does Penny have any photos of you around here?"

"Not that I've ever seen." He looked up at her; there were tears pooling in his eyes. "That's not normal, is it?" Both their minds flashed to Jennifer's family photo album.

She looked away, shook her head. "I don't know," whispered, was all she could offer in answer.

Arthur held both Penny's and his photo in front of him.

"I still need more than this."

"I don't blame you." She started to collect the letters and other photos and carefully slipped them back into the file folder. Arthur handed her the photos he was holding; she stole one more glance at both before also putting them away. Retying the string.

"Can I–"

"Hmm?"

"Can I hold on to this?" she asked, indicating the folder.

He gave her a questioning look this time. "Why?"

"Because it's important to you, so it's important to me. Besides, I feel like you're probably going to tear this whole place apart, searching for answers, and I just want to make sure it's safe."

"You're right…." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "You're always right."

….

He did, indeed, spend the next 24 hours tearing through that apartment, searching, and searching again, for any more evidence of who he was, where he came from. None was found.

"Not even a birth certificate? How have you managed all these years without that?"

"Had one years ago, but lost it. I could have sworn it said Penelope Fleck on it, but…."

"Yeah…." That could have easily been amended, forged, God only knew. It would be something…but not hard proof.

Arthur rose from his spot on the couch, where he was trying to reorganize everything he had torn apart in the living room. "I'm going to Arkham tomorrow. They have to have something, if my mom was–is–really…."

Jennifer looked at him, worried. She didn't want to encourage or dissuade; she felt in some part guilty for the whole Wayne Hall incident, since she had been the one to find out about it and encouraged him to go. She didn't want to influence him either way, and feel responsible for the consequences–or lack thereof–later.

"Jenny?"

She shook her head. "Let me know how it goes. What you find."

….

Jennifer had called home an hour before taking off from work, but there had been no answer. She wasn't worried…too much. He'd told her he was probably going to Arkham later in the day. Still, she was anxious to find out what was going on.

She walked home alone. Cursed the sky when it started raining the last block or two to her apartment; she hadn't brought an umbrella with her today. Of course.

She was essentially a drowned rat upon getting home, but she still swung by his door, knocked a few times, but didn't get an answer.

She changed into old jeans and a band shirt after taking a hot shower and felt instantly better. It was raining hard outside. Maybe that's why she hadn't heard him come in to her apartment.

"Shit!" She jumped when she exited her bedroom and saw him sitting hunched over on her couch. "God damn, you need to stop trying to give me a heart attack." Jennifer laughed nervously.

Arthur didn't respond. He was also soaked; his hair hanging in wet tendrils around his face. His hands were moving slowly in random circles over the surface of her coffee table. It looked like maybe he was shaking, maybe from the cold, but she wasn't sure.

"Art?"

A small, almost indiscernible shake of his head. He still wasn't saying anything. She stepped closer to him, spoke his name again, but he still didn't really acknowledge her.

She moved to sit cross-legged on her coffee table right smack in front of him. He moved his hands out of the way, moved so he was hugging himself instead.

"Tell me what happened."

He still wouldn't look up at her. Another, small shake of his head.

"Had a bad day," he mumbled, barely audible above the rain.

"Okay…. Talk to me."

Before today, Arthur was able to piece together some structure of stability and sense of self in his mind. A structure built on certain assumptions, beliefs, hopes. They weren't the strongest building blocks, but he had been able to build enough of something within which to operate, to function. To human, day by day.

Looking through that file…. He was confronted with so much ugliness and darkness. Some things he didn't know; some he had forgotten, successfully suppressed after so many years. They worked like an acid, corroding and discoloring so many of those assumptions, beliefs, and hopes. And as a result, that structure was faltering, cracking.

CRACK.

I…couldn't handle it. Couldn't handle any of it. I broke. My mind just…broke.

He heard Jennifer say it, though her lips didn't move. Their eyes met, locked. There was something in his eyes that was never there before. Something she couldn't name, but she could feel it.

She spotted something. Laying on the couch next to Arthur was a brown folder with several tabbed dividers. The front of it had a label with Penny' s name on it, and it was stamped: PROPERTY OF ARKHAM STATE HOSPITAL.

"Arthur…are–are you supposed to have that?"

Silence.

Jennifer heard a low, growling noise, but she realized it was coming from Paulie. She turned and looked down to see the feline with his haunches up, hair on end, and diluted pupils trained squarely on Arthur. Paulie hissed, before backing up out of the room.

She glanced slowly back up at Arthur. That look in his eyes was still there, but it was darker, more intense. She swallowed.

Something was deeply wrong. She was in danger. She didn't know why, how. What had happened. But her instincts were telling her to get as far away from this man who was only inches away from her.

Christ. What had hindered her sense of self-preservation more, to have her gotten into this situation? Her love for this man, or her hate for herself?

Her mind went into overdrive. "Uh. Arthur. I'm…tired. I need to get up early in the morning. I'm sorry. But if you could…leave now." She had tried to put a friendly inflection on her words, but they just sounded dead to her.

"Art, please…."

Arthur didn't move, except for his eyes, which then seemed to be scanning her whole face.

She shifted, trying to move away subtly. She gasped when his hands shot out and grasped hers. Cold fingers moved gently against her skin, thumbs rubbed against her wrists. Next she knew, his hands were squeezing….

She pulled her hands away, which he didn't resist.

"Jennifer."

She was frozen in place. Not sure what to expect next. He reached a hand out and simply grabbed a piece of her wet hair, rolled it between his fingers. His eyes shifted down and up a few times, between himself and her. He looked…confused?

She had had enough. She didn't care what happened at that point. She was done.

Jennifer shoved his hand away.

"Get. The fuck. Out of my apartment. NOW."

That was noticed. Arthur's whole demeanor, expression changed. Softened. Like whatever dark thing was inhabiting his body had released its grip on him. For a moment. As he stood, a scowl came over this face, before he stormed out of her apartment finally.

She felt her whole body relax. So much so she almost fell off her coffee table. Before she did anything else, she rushed up and locked her front door, even doing the chain lock.

Jennifer turned around and leaned heavily against the door. The adrenaline spiked by fear earlier was fading from her system, leaving her feeling weak. Her eyes wandered over to the couch.

Penny's file was still there.


	22. Chapter 22

**Warnings**: Some angst. Generally dark topics.

**A/N**: I guess I'm on a roll.

….

This was just…odd.

Jennifer sat on the couch, poring over the file. Looking through it again.

She read all of Penny's medical records. Drug abuse. Delusional psychosis. Narcissistic personality disorder. Sounded about right.

She even read through all the lists of her medications, her lab work, her exams, physical and psychological. Penelope Fleck was a perfectly healthy woman, besides her mental illnesses.

Why had Arthur been taking care of her? Jennifer recalled him saying she had a stroke a few years ago, but she knew he'd been looking after her for longer than that.

She turned to another section in the file. The one with the adoption papers. Certified. Telling her Arthur had been some unknown, anonymous child. Abandoned at the Gotham Orphanage.

It appears they had tried to take Arthur away from Penny at one point. Around the time she was admitted against her will.

Jennifer turned to the next section. The section with multiple newspaper clippings about a negligent mother and her abusive boyfriend, and the little boy who was regularly beaten, tied by rope to a radiator, allowed to starve. Worse. She'd read about that in Penny's psychological exams, too. There were photos of the two of them, maybe taken by police, where they wore cuts, bruises. Some of them bad.

Jennifer couldn't stop crying for several minutes. Her heart hurt for both of them.

She was starting to understand. Really understand.

But there was so much more that didn't make sense. Why on earth would the woman's medical file have all these newspaper clippings, photos—would it have anything to do with Arthur at all, really?

The whole thing felt too…convenient. Like it was filled with exactly everything needed to convince anyone looking at it that exactly one state of events was the truth.

The files Jennifer pored over at work would have newspaper articles, photos, declarations, certificates, proof. But they were collections of evidence, trying to make a case, one way or the other, about someone's negligence or guilt.

Maybe the more horrible parts of it were assembled there to try and shock Penny into realizing the truth at one point. To make a case against her. It certainly seemed like enough reason to take custody of Arthur away from her.

So why wasn't he taken away? Jennifer had seen enough random records–report cards, bills, other miscellaneous health records–over the last few days, and was told enough by Arthur himself, to know he had always been with her. Penny Fleck. The unstable, unmarried woman they never would have given a child to in the first place.

What the fuck had really happened?

…..

She could hear the laughing, occasionally, during the night. She wondered at one point if she was imagining it. If the laughing wasn't coming from inside her head. After her parents passed, for months she could swear she could hear her mother calling for her in the mornings from downstairs.

Jennifer shut her eyes quickly. She hadn't lost Arthur yet–she hoped. She just didn't feel safe being along in the same room as her boyfriend, was all.

Maybe if she gave him a day or two. His finding that file was doubtless like a sledgehammer to his fragile mental state.

But would he be any better? Were those sort of revelations something one could just sleep off?

She pushed the thought away. Pushed all of it away. Things would be fine. Everything would be fine….

…..

Once again, Jennifer stopped at Arthur's door upon arriving home from work. She hadn't called around her usual time to let him know when she'd be home. She hadn't wanted to know at that time, but curiosity and anxiety were eating away at her by the time the sagging elevator of their old building had brought her up to their floor.

She knocked. No answer.

Same thing when she knocked again, a little harder.

It didn't sound or feel like anyone alive was inside.

Her hand came up, wrapped around the door handle. She tried it, but it was locked. She thought briefly of forcing it. Maybe slipping a bobby pin from her put-up hair and sticking it into the lock…. But she chased those thoughts away.

Jennifer let another night pass without trying to reach out to him.

She sat watching MTV on the couch that Saturday. Her phone rang.

"Hi there dear, how are you?" Nancy said.

"Meh," was all Jennifer gave in response.

"That good, huh? How…is Arthur doing?"

Jennifer paused. "We're…sort of taking a break, I guess." God, that felt trite, but she didn't know how else to describe the current situation.

"Uh huh. So, have you seen him in the past day or so? He isn't there now, is he?"

Her friend's questions were odd, unnerving. "…No…. Why do you ask?"

"You don't know, do you? He hasn't told you?"

"Told me what?"

"Penny Fleck died yesterday."

Jennifer's hand went up to cover her mouth. A beat. "Oh my God," she whispered into the phone's receiver.

"Mmm hmm. Around 2 PM. A candy striper came in to check in on her and found her not breathing."

"Why…why are you telling me this, Nance?"

"Well, we haven't been able to contact her next of kin. Arthur, obviously. Left messages, but…. It is a little strange, because about an hour before Penny was found he was seen coming in to visit her."

Jennifer absorbed all that. Mulled over it. "Wait, do you think he saw her die?" she wondered aloud.

There was an unsettling silence on Nancy's end.

"Nance?"

"I'm just…. Last I checked on her yesterday, Penny was improving. Got her appetite back. Was even talking a bit."

"What are you trying to say Nancy?"

Nancy sighed heavily into the phone. "I don't know. I guess just trying to figure out where her son is. If you see him–"

"I don't know," Jennifer mumbled.

"I guess it's not _too_ pressing. Penny had all her arrangements made before she died, apparently. They've already released her body to the funeral home."

Jennifer considered that.

"Do you happen to know what funeral home the hospital released her body to?"

"I…can't just release that information to anybody, even if I had it. Only family."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm the _girlfriend_, then, isn't it?" Jennifer pointed out, referring back to the time she went to Gotham General to retrieve Arthur after he had been attacked and that title was prematurely bestowed upon her.

Nancy sighed again. "I knew I was gonna pay for that one day. Fine. I'll see what I can do. But here's a novel idea, how about actually _talking_ to your _boyfriend_ and find out from the horse's mouth what's going on, hmm?"

"I wish it were that easy," Jennifer breathed. "Just let me know when you can."

Within an hour Nancy called her back. Palmer & Son's Funeral Home on Landry Street had Penny. She jotted it down on the notepad with its curling sheets that was tacked onto the wall near her phone.

"Thanks Nance. I owe you one."

"Just…be careful, huh?" Nancy didn't elaborate and Jennifer didn't ask.

She got out her phone book, found the number for the funeral home.

"Um, hi, yes," she said after a glum, monotone voice greeted her automatically after picking up her call. "I've heard that a family friend just died, and I was calling to see when her funeral services would be?"

"Name of the deceased?" the voice inquired.

"Penelope Fleck?"

She heard the wheels of a chair squeak, some rustling papers. "Oh yes, here it is. Her son came earlier today to see about the arrangements. No funeral. Graveside services and burial are scheduled for tomorrow at 11 o'clock AM."

_Tomorrow?_ Damn that was quick. "What cemetery?"

"Gotham Cemetery. Section D2."

"Wh–what's D2?" Jennifer asked, feeling a bit stupid.

"Pauper's field, Ma'am."

…..

She'd hoped there would be a funeral. Not for Penny's sake. She felt it would possibly be a good catharsis for Arthur. A chance to say good bye and really process what was happening. For herself, it would be a chance to talk to him in a public place, where she'd feel a bit…safer. In theory.

As it was, by the time she'd arrived at Gotham Cemetery and finally spotted Arthur among the sea of headstones in their pauper's field, a Catholic priest and someone else in black where giving their final condolences before leaving Arthur alone at his mother's grave site.

Jennifer watched him carefully for some moments, standing at a distance at which she didn't think he'd see her. He was dressed in his full rust-red suit. Probably the only nice outfit he owned.

He just stared down at the grave for a long time. Eventually she thought she could see him talking to himself, or maybe Penny. Then the Laugh appeared. But something was different. He wasn't holding it back. Not really.

Even from her distance, she thought she could see a smile form and stay on his lips, as he slowly looked up. Right in her direction.

Jennifer moved further back behind the tree she was standing next to. Peeking out just enough to keep an eye on him.

She suddenly felt silly. Nancy's words from yesterday came to mind. "Just talk to your boyfriend and find out from the horse's mouth what's going on."

But she couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. A gut feeling that she needed to stay away.

Yet she couldn't tell with 100% certainty whether that was a genuine gut feeling, or her anxiety working in overdrive. Her thoughts, inclinations, bounced back and forth, like a ball in a tennis match.

She was close to stepping out from behind her tree and approaching Arthur when she spotted a Crown Vic with police lights on top pull up near him. It was those two detectives from the other day, the two men who questioned whether she knew Arthur.

Jennifer receded further back into the shadowy shade of the cemetery's trees. She looked down at herself, dressed in a nice black blouse, skirt, heels, and overcoat. Hair up. Would they buy that she and Arthur had become friends, much less lovers, in the two weeks or so since she'd talked to them, to the extent that she'd be with him at his mother's grave site?

They talked with Arthur for a few minutes, but Jennifer was too far away to hear any of what was being said. Why were they here at all?

Arthur seemed to brush them off before heading in the opposite direction–more or less in her direction.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her overcoat as she turned and hurriedly walked away.


	23. Chapter 23

**Warnings**: Language. Lack of cat.

**A/N**: Sorry for not updating in a bit. Adult life getting in the way, unfortunately. Also sorry for the lack of Arthur himself in these latest chapters, but hopefully some of what I have here and coming up will make up for it, including something in this chapter I'm sure we all wanted to see in the movie but didn't get, unfortunately.

….

Jennifer sat at home alone that night. Poured herself some whiskey, before poring over the file again.

There had to be something. Something amongst all the bullshit that could prove Arthur was still…Arthur Fleck. Penny's boy. Precisely who he always thought he was. Maybe more.

Something that could pull him back from the precipice that he not only seemed to be leaning toward, but smiling into.

She went back to the newspaper clippings. They did name the boyfriend; she wrote down his name with disgust, but doubted it would lead to anything. Supposedly he was already 20 years Penny's senior at the time. Fucker had probably already drunk himself into his grave.

Something else about the articles caught her attention.

…..

During her first break the next day at work, Jennifer used all the databases and other directories at her fingertips to look up the boyfriend. As she suspected—dead as a door nail. Good, she thought. Though it didn't exactly help her cause.

Taking a later lunch, she sat at her desk and dialed the Gotham Gazette. "Hello there," she greeted, falling into her old accent. "I was just wonderin' if certain reporters still worked there?"

"Uh, sure…. What're their names?" a younger male voice asked.

She looked down at her notes. "Sal Rosenbluth?"

A laugh sounded through the phone. "Gee, lady, 20 years too late. He retired ages ago."

Her heart sunk a little. "Well, hope he's enjoyin' his retirement…." she fished.

"He died 10 years ago. Who are the others?"

Just one other name was penciled into her notebook: "B. R. Smith?"

Another groan. "Oh yeah, he's definitely still here. Will probably drop dead at his desk someday."

"If he is there now can ya be so kind as to transfer me to him?"

"Wha—who should I say is calling for him?"

"Uh, Louise Stewart. I work for…" she looked down at the early Christmas card from her company's competitor, "Gotham Mutual. I'm tryin' to do some research related to a policy."

"Uh, alright. One moment."

Jennifer waited. She listened impatiently to some generic piano music while on hold. She breathed a strain breath.

"Smith here," an older voice spoke into the phone.

"Hello Mr. Smith. My name is Louise Stewart. I'm callin' from an insurance company here in Gotham, 'bout a life insurance policy we're decidin' whether to pay out? We suspect the beneficiary might not actually be related to the recently deceased. Doin' some digging, it appears you wrote some articles about some unfortunate events in their past. I haven't been able to find much else, so I was wonderin' if you could help me?" She had to pat herself on the back; she was thinking of a lot of this off the fly.

"Well, I can certainly try. Who are the people involved?"

"The deceased is Penny Fleck. Arthur Fleck is–was her son."

"Oh?" Smith asked quietly. Didn't say anything else.

"Uh…yes. You wrote about his being abuse at the hands of her boyfriend in the past. You described him as being adopted. What…source informed you he was adopted and not her natural child?"

"Adopted children can't be beneficiaries of a life insurance policy?"

"No, of course they can," she acknowledged, drawing out her o's like she used to, but also trying not to sound like a caricature of herself. "I've just seen some conflicting information about his relationship to her, and we just wanted to make sure we covered all the bases." Her accent slipped a little at the end; she hoped he hadn't noticed.

"Honestly it was so long ago I'm not sure I can remember. But I know for sure the boy was adopted."

Jennifer did a double take. "But…."

"And Miss? If I were you, I wouldn't dig too deep on this one."

Smith hung up. Jennifer sat at her desk, listening to the blaring sound of the disconnected tone for several seconds, before replacing the handset to its cradle.

Well, that wasn't at all unnerving or suspicious.

….

Tuesday was too hectic to tend to much of anything outside of work. Once home, Jennifer by-passed even trying to see if he was home. She was avoiding him, avoiding potential confrontation, avoiding…. She knew it, but she wanted desperately to have something in hand first before coming back to him.

She was given another Wednesday off.

Jennifer thought of one last thing. One big old shot in the dark. She had a friend at the city clerk's office. Whenever she needed to get a marriage or death certificate in relation to a claim, Harold was her go-to man. Birth certificates were a much more rare occurrence. She wanted to not involve her job in any way this time. She had an idea.

"Jennifer! How's my favorite insurance adjuster?"

"Uh, I'm still just a secretary, but thanks for thinking positively. How are you, Harold?"

The older, bigger man rubbed his hands up and down the front of his sweater. "The ol' ticker isn't what she used to be, but…that's life, I suppose."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Um…." Jennifer shifted on her feet. "I was wondering if I could get a favor?"

"Well, sure, of course. What do you need?"

She leaned forward on the counter, looked down, then up as she gave her best sweet-demure look to Harold. "Well, see, I'm actually…getting married. Eloping. With the sweetest guy I've ever met…." She paused; looked away for a moment.

"Well, congratulations!"

She laughed cheerily. "Yeah. But ya know, we need to get all our stuff in order–all the blood tests and paperwork and such. We wanted to be sure we entered his parents' info correctly, but…he doesn't have his birth certificate. He's…working right now, but if I could get it for him–" Jennifer pushed some mail forward. She'd earlier swiped a piece from his apartment that didn't have his apartment number on it, but which had still managed to find its way to Arthur at some point. Together with one of her bills, she hoped that was enough "proof" that she lived together with this man and wasn't just asking for some random person's birth certificate.

Harold didn't even glance at the mail. "Of course Jennifer. Just tell me his name and date of birth and I'll go back and see if I can find it."

"Uhh…. I don't actually know his date of birth."

"Hmm…. Don't know the year, at least?"

She did some mental math. "1949, I think."

"Well, it might take a while," Harold warned. "Is that okay?"

She shook her head. "Perfectly fine."

Harold turned to go, but then turned back. "Oh, uh, what is your betrothed's name?"

Jennifer smiled, maybe a bit sadly. "Arthur Fleck."

….

Harold wasn't kidding; it was going on two and a half hours and she still hadn't seen him. She was starting to fear this was just another dead end–after all, if there was some covert, sinister element to all this as all signs pointed to at that moment, why on earth would anything significant just be left sitting in the city clerk's office?–but her breath about stopped when she finally saw Harold, smiling, waving a piece of paper around in his hand.

Jennifer rushed up to the counter. "Did you find it?"

"Here you are, my dear…." He placed the faded document in front of her. "Certificate of Live Birth," for one Arthur Fleck–no middle name–born November 21, 1949. She glanced at the bottom; it was certified, and it was dated shortly after his birth. It had to be the original one.

She looked for his parents. Mother: Penelope Fleck, age 22, of New Jersey. Father: Unknown.

Harold noticed her frown. "Don't worry Jennifer, just enter 'Unknown' for his father when you put all that info down. It is technically correct."

"Um, yeah, no…."

"Is something wrong?"

"No! No, not at all." Jennifer hugged the document to her chest. "Can I have a copy of it?"

"That is your copy. Certified and all. Just in case he needs it."

She nodded. "Thank you so much Harold."

….

Jennifer rapped loudly on Arthur's door. "Arthur! Open up!"

She was so excited. She felt she finally had something to disprove all the bullshit that had been thrown at him lately about who he was, or wasn't. Something she hoped would work as an amulet that could transform him back into her Arthur.

She wasn't sure what reception she would get, though. She had her .22 tucked into the back pocket of her jeans, hidden beneath her leather moto jacket. She had on her sturdiest shoes in her army boots, if she needed to…kick anything.

Jennifer knocked again, but no response.

Her anxiety was starting to perk up. She hadn't seen Arthur since Penny's graveside on Sunday.

She tried the door handle, and, to her surprise, this time the door opened.

She stepped inside. It was quiet. Too quiet.

"Arthur?" she called out, but no answer.

The smell of cigarette smoke was so faint, compared to when she was last inside his apartment. She went over to the TV and placed a hand to it. It was cold. There were multiple VHS tapes lying around, all marked "Murray Franklin" and numbered.

She rushed into Penny's room, then the bathroom. Even looked in the closet again. Nothing.

Where the hell could he be?

Glancing over at their table, she noticed the gun was gone.

Jennifer's tired brain raced. She left the apartment behind as she rushed out, panic surging through her.

….

She just wanted to find him. She looked everywhere. All the restaurants they had been, including the donut shop, stepping inside of which made her a bit sad. Pogo's, but no one had seen him since the open mic night. All the more mundane places–like the bodega down the street and the laundromat and the post office. She even went to the record store she took him to once, and the bowling alley at Amusement Mile where they went to twice. Nothing.

Jennifer exhaled audibly, as she stared at the door in front of her.

Ha Ha's

Talent Booking

He had been fired weeks ago, but maybe one of his co-workers had seen him? As far as Jennifer knew, Arthur didn't really have any friends. At least none she knew of, really. But maybe one of his former co-workers had seen him?

A taped-up, handmade paper sign on the door told her to ring a bell, but she ignored it as she swung the door open.

She drudged up some stairs, then found herself traveling down some colorful hallways. She followed some laughter into a break room with lockers lined up on one side.

It was a room full of men, most of them dressed as clowns or in some state of clowning or declowning. One man was dressed in a full tuxedo and top hat, while another looked like a Chip 'n' Dale dancer.

Gradually, they all stopped what they were doing and looked up at Jennifer.

"Who the hell are you?"

She looked around. "Anyone here seen Arthur Fleck?"

There was some grumbling, annoyed moans. A portly clown in suspenders stepped forward. "Who's askin'?"

She stared this man in the eye. "Just a friend. I…haven't seen him in several days and I'm worried."

"If you haven't seen Arthur in a while count your lucky stars. Weird freak," another clown commented. A few of the others laughed.

Her eyebrows shot up briefly. "Boy I can see why he loved this place…." She looked away.

That earned some grunts, but the man in the tuxedo stepped forward. "Do you think something happened to Arthur?"

Jennifer shrugged, sighed. "I don't know. His mom died several days ago and he hasn't been in a good place."

That gave most of the men pause. "Arthur's momma died?"

"Yeah…."

That same clown in the suspenders stepped up closer to her. "Arthur hasn't been here in weeks and we haven't seen him in that long. So skedaddle…" he looked her up and down, "freak."

Jennifer smirked, motioned to the man. "Sure you don't have a hot dog eating contest down at the pier you have to be at or something?"

"You bitch—" Suspenders moved toward her, but stopped when a voice called out from behind her: "Randall, that's enough."

She turned and looked down to see a smaller man with a beard and receding hair line. "Never mind him, Ma'am. If you're looking for Arthur, I'm afraid none of us have seen him since he took his things after he was fired."

Jennifer regarded the man carefully. "Gary?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She nodded. "He talks of you fondly."

Gary just shrugged.

She sighed again. "Thanks Gary."

"When you find him, let him know w—I'm thinking of him."

"I will," she nodded.

Jennifer turned to go, but one of the men had to throw out one last jab:

"Sure you're just friends? With a figure like that, I woulda thought Arthur would have something like you locked up in some basement."

She stopped, smiled, but didn't turn around. Instead, she reached out and punched a bulky time clock hanging precariously on the end of a wall. It fell crashing to the floor, but she didn't pay it any mind as she went on.

One man yelped. Most of them grumbled again.

"Freaks of a feather," she could hear someone mutter.

Jennifer left Ha Ha's behind, shoving her hands into her leather jacket to fend off the cold as she stepped outside. Apparently she wasn't watching where she was going, because she bumped right into someone who was headed inside.

"Hey, watch where you're fucking going," the man spat. He was wearing somewhat dated clothing—pointed collar, leisure suit. Gold chain over graying, exposed chest hair. Classy.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Hey, did you just come out of there?" He asked in a nasally, strained voice, motioning to the door. "Looking to hire some…talent?"

She studied the man for a moment. "Is your name Hoyt?" She smiled.

He stepped up to Jennifer, grinning. "At your service."

She stepped up closer, still smiling herself. As hard as possible, Jennifer kneed him in the groin.

Hoyt immediately doubled over and groaned in pain. "What the fuck!? You cunt! Get back here!"

But she was already halfway down the down street.

…..

Arthur came out for the fortieth time. Waving, smiling. Trying to appear natural, normal.

"Hmmm…needs a bit more spark. Energy. You look as stiff as a board," "Jennifer" commented from where "she" sat in the corner. Took a drag from a cigarette that never burned down.

Arthur sighed. "I'm never gonna get this right."

"You will." Another drag. "Eventually."

He had been practicing for days in front of "her." He had come a long way, but didn't totally feel ready for his Murray Franklin appearance. Like he wasn't quite there yet.

"Don't worry," "Jennifer" soothed. "You'll knock 'em dead."

..…

Jennifer returned home exhausted, defeated. Sort of fed up of the whole situation. But once she reached their floor, and looked down the hall, something nagged at her. She started in the opposite direction, toward her own door, but she stopped. She closed her eyes.

She walked to his door. She didn't even bother knocking this time. She tried the door handle; it was locked this time.

"Huh."

Luckily she had a stray bobby pin stuck in the bottom of one of her jeans pockets. She fished it out and it applied it to the lock. With some manipulation, she got the thing to unlock.

She took a steadying breath before opening the door and stepping inside.

No signs of life. In fact, nothing really looked changed from earlier. She would have wondered if Arthur hadn't left town, if it weren't for the door being locked when it wasn't before.

She looked around. Questioned whether it was possible that anyone else could have been in this apartment.

She wandered into Penny's old room. Nothing had been changed in there, seemingly.

Jennifer stepped up to his mother's dresser. Opened the drawers to find his mother's clothing still there, as well as Arthur's.

She wandered back out into the living room. Her eyes fell on Arthur's journal and few other belongings on the small table in the corner. Even the crumpled lunch bag and the .38 were there. Seemingly things he'd want to take with him if we just going to up and leave. Maybe. There were still so much she didn't truly know about him, seemingly. So much that seemed like a question mark, hanging in the air, just out of her reach.

Her hand hovered over the worn journal with his name written on the front. They had promised each other to respect each other's boundaries, but it felt like the time for that had passed.

She flipped the journal open.

Jennifer flipped through multiple pages. She wasn't quite sure what to think of what she saw. A lot of it was the expected scribblings about his days, his thoughts, his plans, but they were interspersed with more disturbing passages and drawings and cut outs.

She quickly shut the journal. She looked up through the half-arch into his kitchen.

Walking around, she stepped up to the folding screen still in front of the archway entrance. She reached up and grabbed it, letting it fold on itself before she tossed it aside.

It looked like a tornado had struck, as rotten food and containers and shelving and broken dishes were lying scattered across the floor. She tread carefully, trying not to slip on or further break anything.

The papers from the funeral home that handled Penny's arrangements were sitting on the counter.

She glanced up. The cupboards and walls were wallpapered with newspaper clippings. Faces of snarling clowns and words speaking of murder and uprising and the names of three dead men.

Jennifer stared at this horrific collage for some time.

Her mind went to that night, after Pogo's when they were walking home, and Arthur stopped at the newsstand. Smiled at many of these same headlines. To other moments that didn't entirely make sense or seemed right at the time, but which were brushed off, quickly forgotten, for the sake of a false peace, for an unsteady happiness. To the timing of the Wall Street Three murders and what happened later that night.

"This was you, wasn't it?" she whispered, as her body shook.

"This is you."


	24. Chapter 24

**Warnings**: Some violence sort of? Angst.

**A/N**: Sorry there was sort of another gap in between updates. Life getting in the way again. Also, for a while I've imagined in my head little scenes and lines that I wanted to include toward the end of this story, and it took a bit longer to write something coherent that included all of them. I imagine the next chapter will similarly be a bit delayed for the same reason–and yes, there is one last chapter after this one.

...

Arthur walked into his apartment, setting down the items he'd purchased that day. Who knew green hair dye was so hard to find?

He looked around. Something didn't quite feel right in the apartment, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He questioned himself, whether he wasn't becoming paranoid, on top of everything else, as seemingly everything was as he left it earlier that day.

Arthur shuffled back to his front door and slid the chain lock into place.

He paused. His shoulders slumped. He should just go to her and apologize profusely for everything he did, was. Hope she wouldn't slam her door in his face or worse. He never meant to scare or hurt Jennifer. He'd been avoiding her out of a sense of shame, embarrassment. Intense self-hatred. Fear.

He glanced back at the small bag sitting on his coffee table, and he suddenly felt very foolish. He had no idea where, when, how. Though he knew exactly why. He also still wasn't sure he even should.

His mind returned to his television appearance tomorrow night. He smiled, all other concerns slipping away, as he turned on his heel and skipped into the living room.

….

The knock on the door was unexpected.

He didn't think it was Jennifer; the knock didn't sound like her; she also never once rang his doorbell. He'd also been in her apartment earlier that day, so he knew she wasn't home.

He found a sharp pair of hair shears in his mother's vanity before going out to greet whoever it was.

He was annoyed to see Randall and happy to see Gary.

"We heard your mother died…. from that girl–your…uh…friend? She came around the shop asking about you."

Arthur was confused by that at first, then smiled. "Did she?"

"Yeah…. She, uh, sounded concerned. We just wanted to swing by and check on ya, see how ya were doin'…."

Arthur smiled even wider. "She is a sweet girl." It occurred to him then–Jennifer had been inside his apartment. Maybe multiple times…. Maybe even broken in. But he could only chuckle inside when thinking about it.

Any softness in Arthur disappeared momentarily as he realized why Randall was really there.

He'd had about enough of Randall's bullshit.

….

Arthur stood before his bathroom mirror, admiring his finished make-up–the white greasepaint reapplied after, well, making a mess of things earlier–and the outfit of bright red, yellow, and green he'd put together.

It was quite the look.

"Looks good…" Jennifer's voice purred inside his mind.

Joker smiled, before switching off the bathroom light and heading out.

Later in the afternoon, there was no one around to observe Joker as he reached up and slipped her spare key form its crack above the door frame. It was still there.

He'd left something inside earlier, but he wanted to add something more. He wanted to be sure.

He still wasn't sure he wanted to leave behind the thing that sat heavily in his jacket pocket. It felt like the sort of thing that should be given in person. Something she should be able to accept or reject.

God, he didn't want to think of what he'd do if she rejected it.

It stayed in his pocket, as he left her apartment, maybe for the last time. Careful to lock the door and replace the spare key.

As he walked down the hall toward the elevator, a momentary sadness came over him when he realized both times today that he'd been inside Jennifer's apartment, he hadn't seen little Paulie.

He pushed the thought away as he focused on what was ahead of him.

….

Joker rubbed his sore ribs as he found his way to NCB's Studios. That cab sure did a number on him. He was immensely relieved when, later, he checked and found both items on his person were still there, and intact. As well as the .38.

He entered the lobby of NCB Studios and found a production assistant, who looked at him confused.

"I didn't know Murray was supposed to have on any clown act tonight?" The PA scratched their headset-haloed head.

Joker giggled. "Oh, I'm his special guest!"

"Oh, that guy! Sure, right this way."

"Call me Joker, by the way," he smiled.

"Uh, sure! Right this way Joker…."

….

He would be the last guest on that night. Perfect, he thought. Out with a bang.

The waiting around was a bit boring, though.

Joker frowned into the mirrors in his dressing room, as he saw how rough he looked after his earlier shenanigans. Just as he thought of it, an older woman with short hair and small, round glasses entered Joker's dressing room. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him. "Uhh…."

"Hi there!" he said, giving her a friendly, exaggerated wave.

"Uhh, hi. I'm Ruth. Hair and make-up for Murray's guests. Arthur Fleck?"

"If you say so…." Joker pouted.

"Well, honey, I'm here to do your make-up–"

"Oh, I am so relieved. It…ran a little, because I ran a little, to get here." Joker laughed.

Ruth shrugged. She'd seen crazier. "Well, you happen to be in luck because I do have some clown make-up in my toolkit." Ruth dropped a large make-up box onto the counter, unclasped it and opened it up. She searched and found her pot of white greasepaint, along with a smaller pot of blue-green that matched his triangles. She kept searching for something else. "Hmmm…."

"Oh, I have that."

Ruth turned to Joker, as he pulled out a tube of lipstick where it was tucked away in his shirtsleeve. Jennifer's lipstick. That same dark red shade from that night at the Bowery, and that other night at Pogo's. He handed it to Ruth, who examined it.

"Hmm, Revlon, #22, Harlequin Red. Nice choice."

Joker hummed. "She does have good taste. After all, she picked me." He grinned.

She tucked some tissues into his shirt color to protect them. "Well," she exhaled, "let's get started doll."

….

Ruth was a miracle worker. Joker looked even better than before. Her lipstick did look good on him.

He stood alone in his dressing room, as he rolled the capped tube around in his hand.

His mind flashed to that one morning, when Jennifer had to leave early for work, but he stayed behind in her apartment to feed Paulie and tend to some other things for her. When he got up from bed to use her bathroom after she'd gone, he'd found a note scrawled in one of her more pink shades of lipstick on the bathroom mirror. It was a dirty, cheeky note, referencing…one of their activities from the night before. Punctuated by one of her kisses.

He uncapped the lipstick in his hand and brought it to the mirror. He wanted to write something personal, meaningful, to evoke her, but that seemed pointless, in light of the fact that she'd never see it. She was also still his little secret. He decided on something more generic. Something seemingly benign but which wouldn't seem as much later.

Put on a

HAPPY fACE

….

Jennifer woke up, showered, got herself ready for the day that Thursday.

She smiled at and greeted all co-workers she encountered as she entered her office building and found her way to her desk.

"Hey," Karen said as she came up to her. "How's it going? How's the boyfriend?"

"Fine, fine," she smiled, in a manner slightly off-kilter, but which Karen was not familiar with enough to recognize. "Say, what's the word on the Peters claim?"

"Oh God, that one…."

She was able to deal with work because consciously, she had blocked out anything to do with Arthur Fleck. Nothing of that element of her life entered her brain as she went about her various duties. When the clock turned to 4:30, she felt a slight pang of dread, as certain worries, memories, tried to intrude into her conscious thoughts. She shoved it all down, while offering to stay later at work.

She didn't get home until closer to 7 PM. Her mind was a total blank as she walked up to her building, entered, checked the mail, pushed the elevator call button, then rode the creaking carriage up to her floor.

When the doors slid open she stepped out into a flurry of activity. Cops, paramedics, and her fellow neighbors filled the hallway.

"What's going…" Jennifer started, before noticing that the activity was focused around Arthur's door.

She rushed up to a uniformed officer standing by the door, which had police tape crossing it. "What the hell's going on? What happened?"

"Please, Ma'am, this is an active crime scene. We need you and everyone else to please return to your homes–"

"Active crime scene?!" On instinct, she tried to push past the cop, but he gripped her arms and shoved her back. "Hey!"

"Please, just, I need to see–" She almost managed to get the door open, but the cop stopped her again.

"Ma'am, if you continue with this behavior I'm gonna have to put you arrest."

Jennifer shrunk back. The last thing she wanted was to go with a cop anywhere. "Okay…."

She started walking away, as she became numb, unsure what to do other than head in the general direction of her apartment.

"Hey Gordon, come in here for a bit," she heard someone say behind her. She turned to see that same cop head inside Arthur's apartment. She made a mental note of that name. Maybe she could call the police station later and find out more from that officer, or at least complain about him.

Jennifer moved automatically to her apartment door. Slowly found her key chain and inserted her apartment key into the lock. She entered just as slowly.

Her foot kicked something that subsequently slid slightly across the floor.

She dropped her bags and stepped toward it. She looked down, confused. Crouching down, she scooped it up: It was a magician's wand, with paper flowers sprouting from the top of it.

She knew immediately who it was from.

There was a torn-out piece of notebook paper wrapped around the wand. She unwound the paper. It bore a short poem:

"_I'll always love you._

_You make my heart pitter patter_

_You made me feel_

_Like I matter_"

–Arthur

Oh God. She dropped to the floor, hard, but she didn't care.

A sob broke from deep inside her, following by a downpour of tears.

He'd done it. Jennifer's mind couldn't help but create a gruesome picture of whatever Arthur had done to himself to have the cops investigating it.

Had someone heard the gunshot? Did he leave the door open for someone to find him? Did they see the newspaper collage and put two and two together?

Her thoughts ran to nothing. She was so tired. So tired. Her love was gone, and she did nothing to stop it, could do nothing about it now.

….

She'd eventually dragged herself off the floor, and changed out of her work clothes. She didn't shower or remove her make-up. She broke out a new bottle of Bushmills and had drained most of it.

Jennifer had settled on her couch. Letting the TV quietly lead her in and out of sleep the rest of the night.

She lay with her back to it, facing the back of the couch. At the top of which lay the magician's wand with the note wrapped around it. She'd look up at it, but didn't touch it. She felt a potent mix of anger and sadness at it.

If what the note said was true, why did he leave?

She sighed, miserable. Paulie was sitting at her head. Purring. Trying to cheer up his momma. She'd reach up and pet him occasionally.

As Jennifer tried to fall back asleep at one point, a ghost spoke through her television….

"You know, when I was a kid…."

It couldn't be. She was starting to question her own sanity. Did she just hear Arthur?

He was still talking.

She rolled around and sat up on the couch. He was on her television screen.

It was footage of Arthur, from his appearance at the open mic night at Pogo's. She wasn't even aware he was being filmed that night.

She watched the clip as it was played and played again, utterly confused. Then she saw Murray Franklin's face.

"Now, if you'll join me in welcoming…Joker!"

A man with green hair, in clown make-up, a red suit, yellow vest, and bottle-green shirt, danced out, oozing charisma and charm. He did a little spin before sauntering up to Murray and shaking his hand.

He greeted an older woman–was that Dr. Sally?–by planting a lingering kiss on her. Jennifer felt a funny, unexpected pang of jealousy.

He took his seat next to the late night host–this man. Jennifer knew who he was, and it wasn't Arthur. She'd met him before, shortly before fucking him, or rather he fucked her. She knew exactly who he was.

She moved forward, sitting on her coffee table right smack in front of her television set.

She watched with rapt attention.

After some discussion of his…colorful appearance, they invited him to tell a joke. She noticed Murray's condescending stance toward Arth–Joker.

He told a knock-knock joke, one about a policeman telling a woman her son had been killed by a drunk driver, and her blood ran cold.

He was scolded by the others on the show for his tasteless joke.

"Sorry…. It's been a rough few weeks, Murray. Maybe that's why I…killed those three Wall Street guys."

Jennifer gasped, echoing the sound that filled the television studio. God, he just admitted to murder on national broadcast television. Said it wasn't a joke.

She moved forward again, so her feet were planted on the ground and her hands gripped the edge of her coffee table.

Murray asked if he was serious, if this confession was to really be believed.

"I've got…nothing left to lose. Nothing can hurt me anymore."

That lead to a diatribe about comedy and what is right and wrong, but she was only half listening, because she felt like someone had stabbed her in the gut.

Nothing left to lose. There was a slight hesitation there, but he said it nonetheless.

The mention of Thomas Wayne brought her full attention back to the conversation being carried on through the screen. Joker spoke compellingly about the lack of empathy he'd experienced, that too many experienced. But of course Murray read it as self-pity. Not _everyone_ is awful….

"You're awful, Murray…." Her gut clenched. She recognized the tone Joker's voice took and the look that came over his face and the danger inherent in both.

The late night host became defensive–even more so after Arthur stated he'd only been invited on to be made fun of. So that was it. She had a feeling, but she wondered if Arthur knew.

Still, the more Jennifer watched, the more unhinged Arthur seemed to have become. It eventually escalated to the point where he was yelling. She could feel herself white-knuckling the coffee table beneath her.

Out of nowhere, Joker pulled a gun, and shot Murray Franklin's brains out.

Jennifer sat stock still, unable to register what had just happened. Then all at once it came crashing upon her like a tsunami: a wave of nausea that had her running into the bathroom and vomiting up anything and everything she'd eaten in the last day.

Good god.

….

Gotham had been plunged into chaos.

How was it possible? Were there that many in the city who were so angry? The rioting, looting, violence, had raged on for two days. It was so bad, her work had actually told her and everyone else to stay home that Friday.

Jennifer didn't even feel safe leaving her apartment. Someone had broken into a couple of units on the ground floor that Thursday night that everything went to hell, and she could have sworn someone had tried to open her door last night.

She could hear yelling, screaming, breaking glass, police sirens and a cacophony of other sounds from outside even now.

She shut her eyes against a gunshot that sounded unnervingly close.

She opened her eyes. She was lying on her side on top of her bedclothes, near-fetal position, resting her head on her hands. She was facing two photos propped up on her side table. One of them, the Polaroid she took of Arthur holding Paulie, the other the baby photo of him she'd found amongst Penny's things.

Jennifer tried to remember, to focus on that man, and not the one she saw pulling the trigger of a gun when she closed her eyes. But it was hard when nearly every channel on TV kept replaying his Murray Franklin interview and some even the footage of the shooting.

So she had retreated into her room with Paulie. Trying to wait out the storm.

She was also on high alert. Listening for any little possible sign of danger.

Eventually, she did hear the sound of her front door creak open.

As Jennifer reached behind the photos on her bedside table to grab her .22, she heard the crack of her chain lock being broken off the door.

As she quietly got up and moved toward her bedroom door, she felt odd. Like she knew who was out there….

"Honey, I'm home!"

Jennifer closed her eyes. Shook her head, before she opened the door wide and stepped out, gun held aloft by both hands.

She pointed it right at his face, which Joker found amusing.

"Well, hello to you too, dear."

"You broke into my apartment."

"Well, only fair. After all, you broke into mine."

"Why are you here?"

"Why wouldn't I be here?"

"I need you to fucking leave."

He waggled a disapproving finger at her. "Ah ah ah. You won't get rid of me that easily this time."

He moved toward her, but she moved back and to the side, trying to maintain a certain distance while simultaneously moving closer toward an exit.

Joker sighed. "If you really want to know, I missed you."

She couldn't tell how serious or sincere he was being. The painted and bloody smile distracted from his real expression, particularly in the semi-dark of her apartment.

"Missed me?"

"Mmmm-hmm." He made a big step forward but she moved back and to the side again. She was trying to gauge whether she could make it to the front door before he could reach her.

Honestly, she didn't want to have to use the gun. It was still Arthur there, underneath the garish clothes, dyed hair, smudged make-up, and dried blood.

Jennifer's arms were dropping slightly.

He moved subtly closer. "C'mon Baby, I won't hurt you."

Her eyes narrowed. "A little too late for that."

Joker looked confused, then concerned. He rushed up to her, so her gun was pointed inches away from his face. He even reached up and made sure it pointed right into his forehead. "If I hurt you, go ahead. I deserve it then."

Her hands shook. She took away one hand so the .22 was held in just one. Would she be doing Gotham a favor by just pulling the trigger? She could say he threatened her, but somewhere along the way she'd have to explain their relationship, and it would just get messy.

She also just…couldn't. Never could. She'd probably let him kill her first.

Jennifer uncocked the gun and let her arm drop. A little smile crept onto Joker's face, before she smacked it off. Hard.

"Don't you ever, _ever_, fucking joke about my parents, even indirectly."

He rubbed his cheek. He looked unsure for a moment, then it clicked–the knock knock joke. "You'll never get by in life, if you can't see the humor in everything."

She cocked her head at him, before cocking her gun and pointing it back at him. "Alright, maybe I change my mind."

He stepped into the gun again.

"I wouldn't blame you, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"It's not worth much at this point."

"I figure." He smiled sheepishly.

She sighed. Uncocked the .22 again and let her arm drop. Her nerves, sadness, and lack of sleep were catching up to her, as the sense of danger was passing.

She shook her head. "Where have you even been since…."

"Oh, here and there. My followers have been pretty useful in helping me evade the police so far."

She looked at him, incredulous. "Your 'followers'?"

"Yeah," he smiled. "People who agree with me about how fucked up everything is. How cruel the world has become. They've gone through a lot of the same shit I have, we have. They saw what I did on the Murray Franklin show, and now I'm their hero. Their symbol for change, for recognition."

"Are you sure they're not just laughing at you?"

Joker's expression soured. "What do you mean?"

"Oh c'mon. Think about it. Why was anyone tuned into to Murray in the first place? To laugh at the freak everyone couldn't get enough of. That weirdo, Arthur-what's-his-name. But you end your little appearance unexpectedly by splattering a celebrity's brains on the wall, and suddenly they all smell blood. They see their chance to go apeshit and let out all their pent up rage over whatever. You're not the leader of some goddamn cause, you're an _excuse_."

Joker's face was unreadable for a moment—she thought maybe she saw a flash of anger, denial—before he shrugged, smiled. "Tomato, tomahto."

Jennifer sighed heavily. Sat down on her couch before putting her head in her hands. "So what have you been doing the last couple of days?" She looked up. "Partying with your new _friends_?"

"Oh, I've certainly made some interesting friends lately." The Laugh rose from his thin frame comfortably, melodically.

She looked at him–really looked at him. He looked like a train wreck. "Have you even slept at all in the past few nights?"

"Hmm…." He rubbed his chin, before letting his hand fall away. He grinned. "Don't think so."

She rolled her eyes as she looked away. Looked back. "You know if you don't sleep after 48 hours you start hallucinating and losing your mind, right?"

Joker chuckled. "Well, a little late for that."

Jennifer gave him a wry smile. "Clearly."

She looked away and the pile of Arthur-related documents she'd accumulated caught her eye. She rose and rushed over to it, grabbing up the birth certificate that sat on top of everything else. She brought it to Joker.

"Read this," she directed, before handing it to him.

Joker's eyes scanned the seal-embossed paper in his hand for a few moments. He started to laugh, before flicking it away, letting it fall like a feather onto the floor.

She stared down at it. Clicked her tongue. "Yeah, well, I just risked my job to get that, ya know, no big deal," she shrugged as she looked up at him.

"It's not important anymore, but I appreciate your doing that."

"Is it? And do you?" she inquired. She pointed down. "Cause the paper laying on the floor there says otherwise."

He shrugged himself, frowned. "It's just not who I am anymore."

She threw up her hands. "So Arthur Fleck is no more. Just…kaput?"

Joker fished around in one of his pants pockets. Found what he was looking for in a crumpled Stuttons box and Bic lighter. He pulled one out and lit it, taking a deep drag. "Pretty much."

She pursed her lips. "So who's Jennifer Cullen to…Joker, or whatever your name is. Besides maybe a good lay?" she added bitterly.

He smirked at that.

He took another long drag. "Everything." His green eyes took on a gentle quality, and she was suddenly confused, though also still hurting.

She lifted her chin. "This from the man with, quote, 'nothing left to lose'?"

A drag. "Maybe I was lying then."

"Why?"

"Because…." He reached up and brought his hand to her cheek, rubbed his thumb over it. "You're my little secret," he muttered. A genuine, faltering smile on his face.

Jennifer didn't move away. If anything, in spite of what she felt just seconds before, she found herself leaning into his touch.

He moved subtly closer. His hand moved down to her neck and palmed it. In spite of everything, she still melted at his touch, particularly to that weak spot.

"My Princess," he said gently.

She couldn't help a few tears from falling from her eyes, particularly as she closed them. With his other hand, he moved to wipe these away.

"And I'll do anything to protect you."

She opened her eyes; she felt a pang of dread. "What does that mean, especially now?"

"I don't know. Not sure yet." He drew away. "But you've done more for me than anyone else in my life, and that won't be forgotten."

There was air of finality in those words that made her worry, but she didn't want to confront or acknowledge it, at least just yet. "What did I do?" she asked sadly, semi-rhetorically.

"Love me, mainly," he chuckled softly. "Acknowledge I existed in the first place. Just…gave a damn. I…I saw you came to my mother's funeral."

She hesitated. "You…you knew I was there? At the cemetery?" she asked, uncertain.

Joker gave her a gentle look. "Of course. I always see you."

Jennifer looked down, away.

"No, don't think for one moment that you aren't loved in return. Appreciated. Cherished. However fucked in the head I am."

A fresh round of tears welled up in her eyes. A sob escaped from her.

The cigarette was stubbed out, before he took her into his arms. She hugged him back. They stayed like that for some time.

"I just wish," she finally said into his shoulder, "that I was–that I could have done enough to save you. To help you."

He drew back a bit. He smiled softly, shook his head. "That wasn't your job."

"Art—" she reached up and caressed his face through the sweat-smeared, faded make-up and dried, flaking blood, and she watched as its expression became a blank. A void. Before slowly morphing into alarm, panic.

"Where am I?"

"What?"

He pulled away. Stumbled back, as he seemed to become confused by his surroundings. "What's…where…."

She was confused at first; what was happening? Then she wondered if maybe this was his sleeplessness finally catching up to him. Or something worse.

"Why–why are there two of you?" He kept looking between Jennifer and a corner of the room.

By this time he had walked back into a wall, and the look on his face was one of fright.

She walked up to him slowly. "Shhhh," she cooed. "It's okay. It's okay Arthur."

When she was close enough, she reached out a hand to caress his cheek again.

"Are you…?"

"I'm here. I'm real." She nodded reassuringly, tried to smile. "It's Jennifer, Arthur. Jenny." She looked down, then up. "I love you, and you love me. Hmm?"

He nodded in recognition. "Love you," he echoed.

She sighed in relief.

"Let's go to bed, eh? Get some rest."

He let her lead him into her bedroom. She sat him down on her bed.

"Let's get you cleaned up a bit first."

She went and got some cold cream along with a damp washcloth from her bathroom. Carefully, she cleaned his face and neck, so it was a bit more Arthur Fleck sitting in front of her again.

Jennifer moved to return the cream and cloth to her bathroom.

"Jenny?"

"Yeah–oh–" she let out upon turning around and being enveloped in a strong hug around her waist. He laid his head, with its mane of still-green dyed hair, against her chest.

"What happens tomorrow?" he wondered aloud.

She stroked his hair. She hadn't wanted to think about that, but now she had to.

"I think…I think you need to turn yourself in. Go to Arkham, and turn yourself in."

He moved swiftly to look up at her. "But, Arkham–"

She shook her head. "I don't want to see you in prison. And you need help, Arthur." New tears were falling now. "Trust me, it's the last place I'd want you or anyone to go, and you know why. But I don't see any other way that–that won't take you away from me completely."

Arthur frowned, before nestling his head back against her chest.

"Let's not think of that now," she whispered into his hair after a few moments.

She moved to pull back the quilt comforter and sheets on her bed. Paulie jumped up on the bed. He didn't seem scared of Arthur like last time, but he didn't approach Arthur like he used to, either. He sat at the head of the bed, just watching the two of them.

Beside Jennifer, Arthur started to remove his red suit jacket. "Oh."

"What?" she asked, as she went about fluffing up the pillows.

She was alarmed when Arthur half-collapsed to the floor, so he was kneeling beside her.

She turned to see him holding up a small, velvet box.

"Oh–I should probably open it." He reached up and pulled back the lid, revealing a thin band of gold. A simple, round-cut stone at the top.

"I sold the last of anything valuable I had–Penny had–to have the money to buy it."

She honestly couldn't think what to say at first. Then: "You have a spectacularly bad sense of timing." She took the box from him. Studied the ring inside.

"Heh," Arthur pushed himself up. Jennifer noticed for the first time he was holding his ribs and wincing. "I have all the guts of a whore after meeting Jack the Ripper, is more my problem." She chuckled a bit at that; he smiled.

He stared down at her, staring down at the ring. "You don't have to take it. I wouldn't blame you–"

She pinched the ring and pulled it out from the velvet display. She tossed the box. She was about to slip it on her left ring finger, before his hands came over hers.

"I should do that." He took the ring and slipped it on her finger. Damn, it fit perfectly and everything.

She looked up and the they locked eyes. This was insane. He was. She probably was, at least a little. He had crossed a line and entered a place from which there was no going back. If she had any sense, she would have had him leave, for good. But she couldn't, knowing what had shoved him so violently over that line. There were selfish reasons, too, that made even less sense. But at that moment so much of her just didn't care. Damn whatever the future brought as well.

He didn't deserve her at all. He knew what he had done. What he was now. But here she was, and as long as he could, he was going to hold on tightly. He wanted to ask her to wait, but there was a good chance there would be nothing to wait for, so he didn't.

Instead, he bought her close. As she hugged him back, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I just realized. Today is my birthday. Of all things. Of all days. And the best gift I could have gotten is in my arms right now."

…..

She was standing a safe distance away, behind a gate. The late-November cold stung, as a gust of wind thrashed across her face while she watched the entrance to the hospital. Jennifer had a scarf on and her hands were shoved into the pockets of her jacket for warmth, but she felt none.

He'd changed into his old clothes in the morning. Wore that camel-beige hoodie pulled over his head as they covertly made their way from her apartment to Arkham. About a block from the hospital, they separated, so no one from the hospital would see them together. She squeezed his hand one last time.

He'd made it past some orderlies. Narrowly avoided a cop.

Before he stepped inside, he looked around.

Damn if he didn't spot her.

He let his gaze linger just a second, before he disappeared inside the hospital.

….

She did go back home for the holidays that year, but she of course went alone.

She needed to get away from Gotham, to forget about things for a bit, although she had brought certain things with her.

Like the ring, though she wore it on a long chain hidden beneath her shirt.

She'd managed to dodge or brush off the inevitable questions from her relatives. Most of them seemed to understand, and soon stopped asking.

Early one morning, before anyone else had woken up for the day, she descended the creaking wooden stairs into the root cellar of her grandparents' old home, now occupied by her cousin and her husband.

She looked around. Not much had been changed.

She walked up to the old china hutch against the far wall, still holding an impressive collection of preserves. Carefully, she removed each of these, before she shoved the hutch back.

She felt along the wall behind it. She found it. The hidden space in the wall where, when younger, Jennifer had hidden the sling shot she'd won at the county fair from her cousins, and a little later the diary she didn't want her parents to find.

No one living besides Jennifer knew of this space.

Carefully, she placed Penny's last letter to Thomas Wayne, the brown file folder with the older, unsent letters and photos, Penny's Arkham file, and Arthur's birth certificate, into a metal box. She'd kept the Polaroid and the baby photo out; they were with her at all times, just like the ring.

She sealed the box and maneuvered it into the space.

"Your secret's safe with me," she whispered, as she shoved the hutch back into place.

...

**A/N 2**: Again, there will be one more chapter after this, so stay tuned….


	25. Chapter 25

Warnings: Not really any. Language?

Self-indulgent Author's Note will be left until the end.

…..

The early 1990s

Jennifer sat in her office, enjoying the view of the sunset outside as it threw shades of peach, pink and purple across the skyscrapers of Gotham.

She spied the clock sitting at the right end of her desk. She should be heading home, but she had a few more things to tend to before the day was out.

There was a knock at the door.

She was pretty sure who it was. "Come on in Sam."

Her assistant stepped in. "Hey Jennifer, do you need anything else before I step out?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No I'm fine. You head on home to that lasagna you've been dreaming about all day."

"Definitely. See you tomorrow."

By the time she finally called it quits, her office was mostly dark, except for the light cast by the desk lamp to her left. She switched it off; there was enough ambient light from outside that she could see and pack up her things easily. As she was doing so, she heard a rustling noise behind her.

She stopped, turned around.

"Well hi there, baby brother."

He was standing in the farthest, darkest corner of the room, in his tactical gear and other clothing meant to protect him, make him seem menacing. Make him remind one of a…bat. Of all damn things.

He didn't respond right away.

Jennifer sighed. "I always knew this day would come," she admitted, as she continued to pack up her things.

"You know what I want," he stated finally.

She turned around, setting her purse and briefcase down on her desk. "Tell me. Did it really take this long to figure it out?"

He was still young then. Cocky. Talkative. Insecure.

"There had been rumors of a girl for sometime."

She laughed. "Heh, 'Girl,'" she repeated, scoffing, before running her hand over her face as she looked away.

"I'm old enough to be your mother, _boy_," Jennifer shot back.

He said nothing to that.

She sighed, dropped her shoulders. "Can you get on with it so I can go home?"

"You have things I need. Information."

"And what would all that be exactly." She was starting to feel like this encounter was going to take more than a moment or two of her time. She turned back to the credenza behind her desk and grabbed the cut-glass decanter filled with her favorite scotch. She uncorked the glass stopper, before pouring herself a drink.

Jennifer's eyes wandered to the stack of vinyl sitting to the right, beside a record player. Perhaps to show some disdain for even having to have this conversation, she stepped over and started flipping through the albums. The Ramones, Fleetwood Mac, Michael Jackson, The Police…. Along with some he had actually been the first to introduce her to: Oingo Boingo, Ministry, Tears for Fears, The Smithereens, The Church, Billy Idol, The Smiths.

She flipped to one in particular. _Night Time_, by the Killing Joke. Written in green Sharpie on the front: "From You-Know-Who." Followed by a smiley face. "I love you."

They were all treasured possessions. Welcomed gifts.

She could recall one night, early on, when he came home, grinning like the Cheshire Cat through the painted smile, and presented her with a diamond bib necklace that easily was worth more than she had made in her whole lifetime.

She stared at it for a moment, before grabbing it and throwing it so hard against the far wall, that it shattered into a million pieces.

He quickly got the hint.

"You have the file." Bruce's words broke through her memories.

Jennifer turned back to him. "The what now."

"Don't play dumb. The file Arthur Fleck stole from Arkham State Hospital in 1981. You have it."

"Why would you think that?"

"Why wouldn't you have it?"

"Why would anyone still have it?"

He stepped a little closer. Just a bit.

"There was a woman calling the Gotham Gazette about a week after it was stolen, with information that would only be in that file. From an insurance company, supposedly."

She looked down, then up. "And?"

Just the faintest smile formed on his lips. "Jennifer Louise Cullen, or occasionally Louise Stewart. Previously lived at 2250 Anderson Avenue, Apartment H8, Gotham City. A few doors down from Arthur Fleck."

"So?" she broke in after taking a sip of scotch.

"You were frequently seen with him. Supposedly a couple. Supposedly going to run off and get married, before…the riots broke out."

A smile broke out on her face, before she started to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

Jennifer nodded. "I thought so."

Some confusion showed through the cracks of composure.

"My friend, at the clerk's office," she started to explain. "He was found dead a couple of weeks after…everything. Had a bad heart, but I knew. _I knew_. The way he was found…."

Silence.

"He was the only one I ever said that to. About eloping."

More silence.

"I suppose it's the birth certificate that you're really after. I mean, the file just sort of supports everything your Daddy claimed was true, right?"

He stepped an inch closer. She could make out his features a bit more–what she could see, through the literal and metaphorical masks. There was a bit of resemblance there…. She knew from so many, though not every, night, falling asleep to his brother's face.

"I suppose it was just a coincidence that within a year and a half of your…liaison with him, your boss mysteriously disappeared?"

She froze. "I had nothing to do with that."

"But he had it done for you, didn't he?"

She had no answer to that.

He shrugged, let his eyes travel the room. "You seemed to benefit nicely by it as well."

Jennifer set her jaw. Pursed her lips as she shook her head. So much had happened that she couldn't fully put a finger on, even while Arthur was still locked away in Arkham. Harold. Stanford. Men in nondescript suits and no names who snooped around their old apartment building for months. Probably were the ones to break into her apartment that one time she came home to a freshly broken door lock, a scared-as-shit Paulie hiding under her bed, and her rifled-through belongings, but nothing stolen. Who she figured out were watching and following her and Sophie and a few others in the building. Arthur's apartment which stayed empty for more than a year while other units switched out tenants first.

Whatever leviathan with the Wayne name on it that controlled so much of Gotham was flailing about wildly in the wake of its head being cut off. Even her company was teetering on the brink at one point. Many people quit, seeking steadier places of employ, and officially Stanford had suddenly and inexplicably been one of them, but there had been rumors that a mysterious gas leak in his home had lead to his untimely demise. She couldn't really find out much about it, but she hadn't tried really hard to find out more, either.

"You could…benefit this city greatly, if you handed over what you have."

Jennifer gave him an incredulous look. "Excuse me while I laugh at that." She took another drink.

"Is it easy? Loving someone when you know what they've done? The blood on their hands? When does that blood transfer to yours?"

She huffed. "This about someone who's probably done more real good for this city than the _Waynes_ ever did."

"If you're referring to his Robin Hood act, perhaps you're as delusional as your own health records indicate, Ms. Cullen."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

Jennifer straightened her shoulders as she set her drink down on the desk. "Do you want to know the truth? The full, honest, clear truth? There is a needless war raging on right now, ravaging this godforsaken city and claiming lives because two brothers can't stop swingin' their goddamn dicks around at each other. Can't get over their daddy issues, so they play them out for the rest of us to deal with." She let out an exasperated sigh. Picked up her glass and held it aloft. "But hey, your antics are good for my business."

He mulled over her words. "Were it better if I went against everything I stood for, and…ended it, once and for all?

Another sip. Her eyebrows perked up. "For me or for Gotham?"

He said nothing. For a moment, she honestly wondered if he was seeking her permission.

She sighed. "I'm not sure one of you can exist without the other," Jennifer said, to herself as much as to him.

"Finishing this doesn't have to mean finishing the man himself. You could…assist me in seeing that he's restrained for good."

She laughed coldly. The way he made that sound…. God, so much of what made Bruce what he was was precisely what led to all this bullshit in the first place. What had made Arthur what he was.

Besides, she had figured out long ago that what he proposed would never work. Well, really, Arthur had.

She could remember so vividly the night he had escaped. A year and seven months after she last held his hand. So much political bullshit at the federal and state level meant that Arkham State Hospital was about to experience severe cuts in funding, and he and others were going to be transferred into a special wing of Blackgate Prison exclusively for the criminally insane, supposedly.

She was so terrified for him.

Jennifer had only visited him twice while he was in Arkham. Gave a fake name both times. It was distressing to see him so out of it like he was. For his sake, but also partly because she could still remember what that felt like.

He'd begged her to stay away. She wasn't entirely sure if it was out of a feeling of protectiveness or shame. Maybe both.

The second time, when she mentioned the break in to her apartment, and the other unusual, unnerving goings-on…that seemed to get his attention. Clear some of the fog. To spark something.

She'd find out later he was in touch with people while inside. The "followers." They saw his transfer as their chance, and they took it.

Jennifer left early that day when she heard the news. She was glued to the TV the whole night, but so little concrete information came out of it.

She just wanted to know he was _safe_.

When she heard a knocking on her window, the one with the fire escape outside, she didn't dare to hope. It could be something horrible. Dangerous. But it wasn't.

Her heart about damn near stopped when she saw his face.

Stopped again when they kissed for the first time in an eternity. Pulled each other close and didn't let go.

Later, as she lay in bed close to him, thinking he was asleep, his hand reached up and started to stroke her hair.

"I tried, you know," he spoke up in that gentle, scratchy voice. "For your sake. Our sake. Even mine. One last chance. I behaved while there, stayed out of trouble. Did as I was told. There…was this doctor. Leslie Thompkins. She knew her shit. And she was actually kind. The first person besides you who gave a damn." He ran a hand over his face. "It helped. Someone was helping. Finally. Then with the cuts she had to leave, find a job elsewhere. They tried to saddle me with some other…clown, but he was so pointless. The whole thing was so pointless. Is so pointless." That coupled with what Jennifer had told him had been impetus enough for him; he'd had enough.

There would be no Arkham again. He'd promised that.

"I can't help you," Jennifer told his brother. She finished her drink and turned back to her credenza. She mulled over whether to pour a fresh one or simply clean the glass and place it back amongst the others.

She heard his voice behind her, closer this time: "Maybe you should try, regardless. Everything comes to light eventually."

By the time she turned around to question those cryptic words, he had already retreated to the shadows. A piece of paper sat on her desk that wasn't there before. Embossed, official, with the county seal of the place she was born, but it was a marriage license. Bearing her name and signature. And the name and signature of a Jack Napier.

She couldn't help but let out a short laugh. "I told him that name was too on the nose."

She looked up and eyed him. "How long did it take your people to find that?"

A pause as he drew his head back. "Look beneath it."

Her brow wrinkled. She looked down and slid the marriage certificate away. There was a birth certificate beneath it, for a Bernadette Cullen. That had been her grandmother's name, but it was someone else's name now.

Jennifer looked up at him slowly. Fear and rage simultaneously rising in her at realizing what card he was trying to play.

She wanted to kill him.

"I wondered why soon after breaking out and his return as Joker, he suddenly disappeared for several months–"

She stormed up to him, steadying herself on the way. She conveyed how she felt through her eyes, as they bore directly into his. When she was just a foot away from him, she spoke in a low, dangerous whisper: "_Don't_."

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Jennifer drew back. Eyed him up and down. "I'll never help you. _Ever_. And if you ever do anything toward her–_anything_–I will make sure he kills you." She shrugged. "Or I might just do it myself."

….

The bell dinged for her floor right before the doors slid open smoothly. This building had been his idea. She protested at the thought of moving from their old building–it was a shit hole, but it was their shit hole, where they had met and fallen in love, but he had a point when he said it wasn't safe anymore.

The Art Deco jewel they lived near the top of now once housed some of Gotham's most notable mobsters and bootleggers during the Prohibition Era. Behind its wood-paneled walls were still the hidden passageways and rooms and stairwells that made their business easier to conduct. That now made it easier for Arthur to come and go without being detected.

Jennifer punched her security code into the panel beside her door before slipping in her key.

Once inside, she dropped her things onto the table to her right with a thud. Let out a sigh as she kicked off her heels. It had been a long day.

"Mrrow?"

She looked down to see Frank Sinatra staring expectantly up at her.

"I suppose you want to be fed, huh?"

In answer, the feline wound his way around her stocking-clad legs and started to purr. Some things never changed.

The morning after Arthur came home to Jennifer, she awoke to find Paulie curled up on his chest again. A habit that would continue until the cat's death of old age a little less than a decade later. Arthur was accepted again, but whenever Joker was around, Paulie still kept his distance. She wasn't sure if something about Joker's look just spooked the animal, or it was something more. She didn't think too deeply on it.

"Don't listen to him. He's been fed already."

The voice was a little rougher, probably from an additional ten years or so of smoking, but it was also still soft, gentle.

She turned around to see Arthur, hands in his pockets, leaning against the nearest doorway. Slacks, button down, sweater; his fashion sense hadn't changed much when he was Arthur. It hadn't changed much for the other guy, either.

His features were a bit more lined. His face and frame a bit fuller, from age as much as her cooking. Some gray hair around the temples…from what she could tell through the frequent twinge of green.

"Hi," she smiled a smile reflecting so many emotions, but mostly relief, happiness. Love.

He stepped up to her. "Hi yourself." They fell easily, comfortably into a hug. He turned and kissed her temple. Jennifer felt herself melt for the millionth and far from the last time.

"Ma! You're home!"

Bernadette. Sweet little Bernie. Who took so much after her father except for her eyes–a soft blue some people mistook for gray. Arthur would tell Jennifer and Bernie that that was a sure sign their daughter had her mother's sweet soul in her.

She wasn't exactly planned…. With Arthur gone that year and a half, concerning herself with birth control seemed pointless to Jennifer, and it had been totally forgotten his first night back. But when Jennifer found out and told Arthur, they both vowed that she never be made to feel like she was a mistake or unwanted.

To the great relief of them both, the mental storm clouds that took up permanent residence in their heads didn't seem to have been passed down to her.

With a big smile, she ran up and hugged the both of them. Jennifer combed her fingers through her dark, curly hair. "How was your day Sweetheart?"

"I got another A–see the proof's right here–"

Jennifer took the stapled papers held up to her and scanned the first page. Of course it was in math. How this child seemed to shine in the subject when neither of them had any real interest or aptitude in it (unless it was counting money), neither one of them could figure out.

Looking down at her, Jennifer's...run in with the girl's uncle suddenly came unbidden back into her conscious thoughts, and she frowned.

"Did…did I do something wrong?"

Jennifer shook her head. "No. Not at all Bernie." She handed the papers back as she put on a smile. "Why don't you go post that on the fridge with the others, hmm?"

"Sure!" Bernadette ran off for the kitchen.

"Is something wrong?" Arthur whispered into Jennifer's ear. The arm around her midsection tightened.

She looked at him. She debated with how to answer that question, even just to herself.

She should probably tell him who visited her tonight. What it could possibly mean. What she was thinking….

The strain of the relationship had taken its toll at times. He wasn't always there when he was needed. When Paulie died, for instance, though that ultimately seemed to upset him more than it had her. There was always a high chance when she came home…he wouldn't. But she knew she was too far gone from the moment he gave her that look in the donut shop, years ago. Arguably, even earlier. It was a connection that would always be there, even if she had long ago left him. That would always make her a target. It seemed safer to be under his protection rather than trying to stay away. Besides, she had been able to carry on her life here in Gotham. Now had a beautiful daughter he'd given her. Everything else could be pushed away, forgotten. She was good at that.

Maybe she'd tell him, maybe not. But at the very least, it could wait for another night.

They fell into another embrace. He touched his lips to her forehead and she sighed.

She drew back a bit and they locked eyes.

"No. Never with you."  
…..

**Author's Note**: So I wanted to say thank you to everyone who's given this story love over the last few months. I never dreamt my being peeved at Arthur not having a cat in the movie would turn into me writing a book basically. lol I wanted to thank especially Vanta and Denise on here, who've followed this story so closely and been so supportive. Writing this has helped give me some great practice as well as a lot of needed confidence about my writing in general; I'm now working on an original novel idea that I'm really excited about.

Writing this also helped me deal with some personal stuff as well. Besides my own struggles with mental illness, I…dated and was (and I guess am) in love with a guy with clinical depression. We had these great first few months that were abruptly cut short when he had a bad episode and pushed me away a lot. I stuck by him, tried to make it work. We were together for almost three years but I realized I just couldn't help him. I guess I wanted to write something about that idea: how love doesn't or can't always save.

We're still friends, though. Joke around a lot. Argue occasionally. We actually saw _Joker_ together and both loved it. Anyway, I guess my feelings, whatever they would be categorized as at this point, towards him are part of why I came to love Arthur so much. Maybe it ruins the realism or message of the story a bit, but I wanted to give Arthur and Jennifer a happy ending (of sorts?). Reality sucks; that's why we have stories, fandom, fan fic. To give us something better.

Thanks again, particularly if you actually read all that. lol

–Bailey


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